


Identity Theft

by Goldy, thirty2flavors



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirty2flavors/pseuds/thirty2flavors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor is injured during an alien attack, he and Rose are left struggling to cope with the aftermath. Trigger warning for themes of memory loss/amnesia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title** : Identity Theft (1/5ish)  
 **Authors** : [](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/profile)[**goldy_dollar**](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/) & [](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/profile)[**_thirty2flavors**](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/)  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings** : Ten II/Rose  
 **Genre** : Angst, drama  
 **Warnings** : No standard warnings apply, but it does deal with  themes of memory loss.  
 **Summary** : When the Doctor is injured during an alien attack, he and Rose are left struggling to cope with the aftermath.  
 **Excerpt** : _The Doctor looked her up and down like he was seeing her for the first time. Rose felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny - he had looked at her a million times before, but never had she felt like he was passing judgment on her._

The van’s tyres skidded along the road as it pulled to a stop. Rose hauled the door open and jumped out, the Doctor right on her heels.

They landed in a scene of chaos.

Flames engulfed a nearby shopping centre as people ran screaming out of its burning entrance and flooded onto the street. Downed power lines were strewn across the ground while a fire hydrant gushed water over the pavement.

The van’s doors slammed shut as the other members of Rose’s team, Jake Simmons and Tim Neil, climbed out behind them. “Jesus Christ,” murmured Tim quietly as he got a good look at the carnage. “Do we know what we’re looking for?”

“No,” said Rose, surveying the scene herself. She paused. “Well, one witness said it looked a bit like--”

Before she could finish, Jake pointed. “There!” he yelled.

Rose followed his finger and her eyes landed on the alien. It stood about a metre high, a small bulbous body supported by five long, wobbly legs. A thin sheen of moisture on its pale, pink skin glistened in the daylight, reminding Rose of the bizarre looking creatures found in the depths of the ocean. Truthfully, Rose thought it looked a bit silly.

“Oh no,” the Doctor whispered.

Right then, the alien moved, taking chase after a man in a suit. Its movements were fluid and swift, despite its strange build; in a second the alien overtook the man and leapt at him, its tentacle-like legs wrapping around his head.

The man fell to the ground, writhing and screaming underneath the creature.

Rose moved towards him instinctively. “Come on - we have to help him.”

The Doctor grabbed her arm. “Rose,” he said, not unkindly, but with a firm warning in his voice. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Tim winced as he watched the man fall still and the alien extracted itself from the limp body. “What’s it doing?”

“It’s feeding.” The gravity of the Doctor’s tone made Rose regret ever thinking the word “silly”.

“There are more of them,” Jake pointed out. He crouched down behind the van and peered out into the sea of screaming people. “Three – four -- at least five of them, Rose.”

“Doctor—” Rose turned on him, heart pounding. “What are they?”

“Squadra,” said the Doctor darkly. “Rose, listen to me.” He surprised her by grabbing her hands. “Your gun, where is it?”

Rose frowned. “My belt. Why are you—”

“Get it out!” he hissed. “Use it—and whatever you do, do not let one touch you.”

His words did nothing to calm the pounding of her heart. For the Doctor to demand she use a gun..... She nearly elbowed him in her haste to unhook it from her gun belt.

“ _Don’t let them touch you_ ,” he repeated.

“Yeah, I got it,” Rose said. He turned back to survey the wreckage and Rose grabbed his arm. “What about you? You never carry a gun. You’re defenceless.”

“Time Lords have this trick,” he began, but something caught his eye. “Jake,” he murmured.

Rose’s head whipped around. Jake had taken coverage behind the Torchwood van and apparently hadn’t needed the Doctor’s blessing to use his gun. He shot into the crowd, his effectiveness somewhat hampered by his efforts to avoid hitting innocent people. And behind the van, Rose saw the long legs of a Squadra moving towards him.

Rose knew what the Doctor would do a split second before she saw him do it.

“DOCTOR, DON’T YOU DARE—” she said, but it was too late. The Doctor pushed her out of the way and planted himself in the Squadra’s path to Jake.

Time seemed to grind to a halt.

Rose could only watch while, as though in slow motion, the Squadra wrapped its arms around the Doctor’s head and they fell to the ground, the Doctor twitching and convulsing beneath the creature.

“NO!” Rose yelled. She ran towards him, but strong arms wrapped around her waist.

“Tyler,” growled Tim. “You heard what the Doctor said—you can’t let it touch you.”

“I DON’T CARE! LET ME GO!” Rose yelled, pushing ineffectively at the man’s much larger arms. “He needs help!”

At her screaming, Jake turned around. His looked from the Doctor, squirming underneath the Squadra, to Rose, fighting against Tim’s grip. He raised his gun instinctively but hesitated; there was no way to get a clear shot, and he couldn’t risk hitting the Doctor.

“LET ME GO,” Rose hollered, swinging her elbows back into Tim’s stomach. He grunted but held onto her.

“Think about what he said, Tyler,” Tim hissed in her ear. “Fat lot of help you’ll be to him if it feeds on you as well.”

Rose struggled once more against Tim’s arms and then slumped in defeat. Tim’s hold loosened slightly, but he didn’t release her.

Rose’s eyes never left the Doctor. His arms flailed helplessly and his cries of pain were muffled and indistinct. Her stomach twisted itself into such a tight knot that she thought she might be sick.

After what felt like an eternity, the Doctor stopped twitching. With a loud squelching noise, the Squadra removed its arms and released him. It stumbled away from the Doctor as if half drunk and then fell on its side, legs twitching.

Jake reacted immediately—with one click of his gun, the Squadra exploded in a cloud of blood and flesh.

Tim released her and Rose ran to the Doctor’s still form, her hands shaking as she pressed her fingers to his neck. She swallowed back a sob—and then she felt it. A pulse.

“He’s alive!” she yelled, almost laughing with relief. “Doctor,” she said, cradling his head gently on her lap. “Can you hear me? Doctor?”

“ROSE!” yelled Jake. He shot at a Squadra over her shoulder. “We could really use you.”

“Help me get him in the van!” she yelled. She leaned down and pressed her lips to the Doctor’s forehead before whispering, “If you can hear me, I’ll look after you. I promise.”

\----

The Doctor stayed unconscious for a very long time.

Rose was oblivious to the bits of Squadra flesh still clinging to her hair and clothes as she held onto the Doctor’s hand. He was lying on a hospital bed in Torchwood’s medical wing, hooked up to all the best technologies this world had to offer. Machines reported his heart rate, his oxygen levels, and his blood pressure at regular intervals.

The steady rise and fall of his chest should have reassured her, but Rose became more anxious with every minute he remained unconscious.

None of the other Squadra victims had woken up yet either.

She squeezed his hand a little more tightly—his skin was warm and dry, and the rest of his body was eerily still. There was no movement beneath his eyelids and he didn’t twitch or snore. Wherever he was, he wasn’t dreaming.

The doctors and nurses who passed in and out to read his vitals and told her nothing helpful. Jake came by with his report of the incident and Rose mechanically signed off on it. _Squadra nest destroyed_ , it read. _Minimal casualties reported._

Jackie even popped by for an hour or so, bringing coffee and a hairbrush. She made a few token pleas for Rose to leave and grab a shower and rest, but Rose barely listened.

The Squadra had attacked him _right in front of her_ , and she hadn’t done anything to stop it—to help him. So far his condition matched the other victims’. But he’d told her, he’d said: _Time Lords have this trick_. But _what_? What trick?

She sat back in her chair, watching his face and worrying her lip. It had been hours now, and the Doctor’s condition hadn’t changed. The knot in her stomach seemed to be growing tighter by the second, a manifestation of the fear she didn’t even want to consider.

What if he never woke up?

With one hand still closed around his, she reached up, gently running her fingers through his hair. The Sqaudra had left no marks. Aside from the total stillness of his face, he looked fine--completely himself, healthy as ever. Somehow, it made the wait even more agonising. It reminded her of the day he’d regenerated, years and Christmases ago, a stranger lying in her mother’s bed.

Feeling as helpless now as she had then, Rose pressed a kiss to his forehead and then sank back in her chair, drained. She was exhausted in every sense of the word, and though she had no intention of moving from her spot at his bedside, it was becoming harder and harder to keep herself awake. With one hand still desperately holding on to his, she pulled her legs up into her chair and allowed herself to drift into that awkward space between sleep and waking.

And then the Doctor’s hand squeezed hers.

Rose’s eyes flew open immediately, and she nearly fell from her chair in her haste to turn and face him. The Doctor’s eyes were still closed, but as she watched, he groaned quietly and opened his eyes to look at her.

Rose’s relief was immediate, and she couldn’t help but grin broadly and give his hand another squeeze. “Hi.”

She waited for his warm smile of recognition, but the Doctor only blinked at her, his gaze jumping around the rest of the room. “Where am I?” He sat up, tugging his hand out of hers, staring at the machines he was hooked up to, his forehead crinkled in confusion. “What’s going on? What’s...” He looked at her again, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the bits of Squadra still stuck in her hair. “Who _are_ you?”

The question stung more than Rose could have anticipated. She blinked back at him, her grin disappearing. “Doctor, it’s... it’s me.” His expression didn’t change, and -- feeling wholly stupid while doing so -- she added, “It’s... Rose.”

The Doctor didn’t seem impressed with her answer. He looked around the room again, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously. “Where am I?” he asked again. “What’s--”

“It’s Torchwood,” said Rose. She reached out to touch his arm and the Doctor jumped, watching her hand warily. “We’re at Torchwood.”

“ _Torchwood_?” he repeated. Though he sounded incredulous he at least seemed to recognize the word. “Why am I at Torchwood?”

“You...” she began, and then hesitated. The Doctor was still watching her like... like he’d never seen her before. His eyes were wide, and he twisted his body away from her, like he expected her to attack at any second. The heart monitor beside him registered a steadily increasing heart rate. He was frightened -- more frightened than she usually saw him -- and she had no idea why.

What had the Squadra done to him?

“You were hurt,” she said finally, quietly. The knot in her stomach was back. “Doctor, what’s the last thing you remember?”

He opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. His eyes widened even more, and he backed away from her as much as he could, pressed up against the side of the hospital bed. “What have you done to me?” he whispered finally. And then his voice grew louder, more panicky. “What’s happened? Why don’t I remember anything? _What did you do to me_?”

Rose watched him wordlessly, feeling like she was in a daze. “I... I didn’t...” she stammered, barely able to comprehend the idea that the Doctor was accusing _her_ of hurting him.

The door to the hospital wing flew open and Jake scrambled in, looking as though he’d just sprinted there. “Rose,” he began, panting, but then he saw the Doctor and his face fell. “Oh.”

Rose twisted in her chair to face Jake, her own fear growing. “Something’s wrong.”

“Who are you?” the Doctor asked immediately.

“Jake,” he said -- like it wasn’t weird at all to be asked his name by someone he’d known for years. “Hi.” He turned to Rose, sending her a meaningful stare. “Rose, I need to talk to you.”

Rose laughed faintly, still feeling as though she was having a very bizarre dream. “I don’t know if you noticed but now’s not the best time.”

“Now is exactly the best time,” said Jake, reaching down to take her arm and try to tug her out of the chair.

“Tell me what’s going on,” the Doctor demanded, looking from one to the other in quick succession. Some distant part of Rose recognized that he was shouting and making demands to mask his fear like he always did -- only this time it wasn’t working so well.

“We will,” said Jake, “once I talk to Rose.” He gave her arm another tug. “Rose, come on.”

Reluctantly, Rose allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

The Doctor stared at them, and he looked so bewildered and afraid that Rose had to fight the urge to go over and hug him. Something told her he wouldn’t appreciate that right now. “Hold on, you can’t... you can’t just _leave_ me here.”

Rose swallowed, suddenly feeling like she might cry. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I promise.”

He didn’t look like he believed her.

With a shaky breath, Rose turned and followed Jake out of the room.

\--

The door had barely closed behind them when Rose rounded on Jake. Her heart was pounding very hard and she was reluctant to get any further away from the Doctor. “What the hell is going on?” she hissed. “We should be giving him a full physical, not - ”

“Rose...” Jake touched her gently on the arm and she reluctantly snapped her mouth shut. “We did some research. This isn’t the first time the Squadra have come to Earth. They’ve attacked London before, around the turn of the century.”

He hesitated and Rose felt a surge of impatience. The Doctor was alive and he was awake - and Jake had better have a _very_ good reason for keeping her away from him.

“Yeah? And?” she snapped.

“Torchwood managed to stop the attack, but the victims they....” Jake turned apologetic eyes on her and Rose felt her breath catch. “They got this... this form of amnesia.”

Rose stared at him, heartbeat ringing in her ears. She thought about how the Doctor had looked when he woke up - the way he hadn’t recognized her, the confusion and terror on his face. She drew in a sharp breath and managed, “How do you mean?”

“We think that’s what they feed on,” Jake continued gently. “They take people’s memories - their identities, I should say. The Doctor... he’ll remember Torchwood and he’ll know how to work the television remote, but he won’t remember you, Rose. He won’t even know his own name.”

Rose’s knees weakened and she leaned back against the door. “No,” she whispered. “He _said_ , Jake - he said that Time Lords, that they can do this thing...”

She remembered what he’d said - how he’d told her not to let one touch her. He _knew_ , she thought. He knew exactly what would happen when he gave himself up to that Squadra.

“He didn’t remember anything,” she found herself saying. She looked up at Jake, trying not to sound pleading. “He looked right at me and didn’t even know who I was.”

Jake touched her gently on the shoulder. His face was grave. “Rose, I’m so sorry.”

“Those other victims,” she said desperately, “did they get their memories back?”

He shook his head. “No.” She looked away, and Jake continued, “But most of them found a way to carry on - sometimes with their old families, sometimes building new ones. Don’t count him out yet, Rose.”

Easy for him to say, Rose thought. He wasn’t the one whose boyfriend... type... person... had just woken up without his memories.

“And who knows?” Jake said. “That was more than a hundred years ago now. We’ve come a long way since then. If you talk to a doctor, maybe you can...”

“Yeah,” Rose said dully. She leaned her head back against the door, tears momentarily blurring her vision. “Jake, what do I tell him?”

There was a long pause, and then Jake said, “I don’t know. The truth?”

Rose laughed--a broken, hysterical sound. “Oh, right, that’ll go well. ‘Doctor, quick recap. You’re a 900-year-old Time Lord who used to be able to travel in all of time and space but then you grew yourself out of your own hand and now you’re stuck as a human in this world with me. Any questions?’”

Jake shrugged. “Why not? If it was me, I’d want to know everything about myself that I could.”

“Yeah, but you’re not an alien from a parallel universe,” Rose shot back. “We’re not exactly talking about a bloke who moved to the suburbs to settle down with two kids and a dog.”

“Fair point,” said Jake. He paused. “You’ve got to tell him something.”

“I know that,” Rose said. She banged her head back against the door, feeling empty and tired. “I’ll think of something.”

\---

Rose didn’t go back in the hospital room right away. She stood outside, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She thought: _He doesn’t remember. The Doctor doesn’t know who I am._

The thought made her want to turn around and let someone else sort it out for her. How could they expect her to keep her head around him? Those first few minutes after he’d woken up had been bad enough, but if Jake was right, this could be forever. All those years of _history_ he had. In all her time with him, she’d barely scraped the surface of all he’d done and seen. How could she even begin to give him back any of that? She couldn’t tell him about his people or his planet or what had happened during the war. She couldn’t tell him about his family or any of the friends he’d had before and after her. He had over nine hundred years of memories to catch up on and she barely knew any of them. She knew the Doctor better than anyone else in the universe, but it wasn’t enough.

But right now he needed her. Rose could only imagine how terrifying it would be to wake up and find all your closest thoughts and memories gone. It must be the emptiest feeling in the world.

Taking a deep breath, she nudged the door back open. She found him sitting up, squinting over the monitors plugged in by the bed. It took her a moment to figure out why he was squinting and then she realized - his glasses. He usually kept them in his top right pocket - but of course he wouldn’t remember that now.

Eyes closed, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Then, steeling herself as much as she could, she walked to his bed. “Hi,” she said.

He looked up when she spoke, and the expression on his face broke her heart. Though the earlier panic had faded, she could see the lingering terror and wariness in his eyes and in the tense way he was holding himself, like a cornered animal. He wanted her answers but he didn’t trust her; he wanted to run but he wasn’t sure where.

“Hi,” he said stiffly. He glanced at the heart monitor next to the bed and then down at the IV sticking out of his arm. “What’s wrong with me?”

Rose bit her lip. “Do you.... do you remember anything?”

There was a long moment of silence and he looked up at her, eyes wide and frightened. “No,” he finally whispered.

Rose took a deep breath. “You’re in London. It’s about 2am Saturday morning, the temperature is around sixteen degrees, and your name is the Doctor.”

He absorbed this quietly, his eyes glassy and unfocused like the shock was too much to handle. Rose swallowed hard and looked away - the urge to throw her arms around him was overwhelming. She had to keep telling herself to take it one step at a time. This had to be about the Doctor - it didn’t matter how worried she’d been or how awful it was to look into his eyes and know he didn’t recognize her.

“The Doctor,” he repeated like he was trying the word out in his mouth and fitting his tongue around the syllables. “The Doctor.”

“Yeah,” she said, trying for a smile. “You chose it. I love your name.”

He didn’t smile back. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” Rose said. She hesitated and then took a seat on the edge of the bed. He shifted over, looking impatient and uncomfortable. She tried to keep her voice calm. “There were these aliens - Squadra, they’re called. One of them attacked you and.... it fed off you.”

The Doctor stared at her in quiet disbelief. Usually, this was the part where he finished the thought for her or launched into a long explanation about where the Squadra came from and how they could stop them. But he said nothing, and after a moment Rose continued.

“They took your memories,” Rose said, swallowing past a lump in her throat. “Your whole identity, they just.... they took it.”

She bowed her head, pressing her hands to her eyes and taking a few shuddering breaths. It wouldn’t help anyone if she broke down now, right in front of him. But it hit her a little bit at the time that the _Doctor_ \- everything about him - was gone. How could she grieve for someone who was sitting across from her? Someone who looked and sounded just like the Doctor and who was very much alive?

“Whoa... hey...” said the Doctor, now sounding distinctly alarmed. “There’s no need to....” He broke off suddenly like something had just occurred to him. “Are you and me...?”

Rose pulled her hands down from her face and managed a teary eyed smile. “Yeah,” she whispered. She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Yeah, we are.”

The Doctor looked her up and down like he was seeing her for the first time. Rose felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny - he had looked at her a million times before, but never had she felt like he was passing _judgment_ on her.

“Oh,” he finally said. “So this Squadra, it.... what? It ate my memories?”

“Yeah,” Rose said dully.

He was growing more and more agitated. “But you can fix it, right? That’s what you lot do, that’s why I’m here.”

Rose said nothing and looked away, avoiding his eyes.

“You _can_ fix it,” said the Doctor. It wasn’t a question.

She could feel the weight of the Doctor’s stare and she shut her eyes, bowing her head. She couldn’t cry now, not yet--

She heard the Doctor suck in a sharp breath, and when he spoke again he was begging. “Please say you can fix it.”

“There was an attack around the turn of the century,” she said finally, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Some people, they... got hurt, like you.” She swallowed. “None of them ever remembered anything from before the attack.”

“No.” With wide, disbelieving eyes he shook his head. “You’ve got to be able to do _something_ , you’re Torchwood, that’s your _job_.”

“I know.” She forced herself to look at him, the back of her throat beginning to burn. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you’re _sorry_?” he snapped. “What good does that do me?” When she said nothing, the Doctor looked away, scowling across the room. There was a beat of silence, and when he spoke again, he sounded on the verge of hysteria. “I can’t be like this forever. I can’t -- I don’t even remember my own _birthday_ , I can’t...”

“Well... we don’t know for certain,” said Rose, her voice wobbling despite her efforts to sound calm and collected. “That was over a hundred years ago now. Technology’s changed, maybe... maybe there’s something...”

But she didn’t sound very confident, and beside her the Doctor hugged his knees to his chest. “Do you really think that or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

He sounded as miserable as she felt, and she reached out, one hand hovering just above his shoulder. She wanted to be able to reassure him, to vow that she would find some way to make it better. He was looking for some kind of lifeline, and she wanted one too.

But she also didn’t want to make promises she couldn’t keep. If there were an easy fix for Squadra attacks, the Doctor wouldn’t have encouraged her so vehemently to use her gun, or thrown himself in front of Jake. She pulled her hand away, folding it in her lap.

“I want you to feel better,” she admitted softly.

His sigh of disappointment was unmistakable, but he gave a curt nod. “Yeah. Well. Thanks, I guess.” He was silent for a long moment, staring off away from her, his shoulders hunched. He looked remarkably small, half-hidden under the sheets of the hospital bed, and Rose thought he’d never looked more human -- or more like a stranger.

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispered eventually. “How am I supposed to...” He trailed off, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I can’t remember _anything_ ,” he said desperately. “Where the hell am I supposed to go from there?”

“I don’t know,” Rose said, her voice cracking. Her throat felt tight. “But I’ll help you.” She swallowed, blinking rapidly to try and clear the tears that were fogging up her vision. “I know that doesn’t mean much to you, but I... I know you better than anyone.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll help you, Doctor, I promise.”

He turned to look at her, and with a minuscule smile he said, “It’s ‘Rose’, right?”

The question made Rose feel sick, but she forced herself to smile when she nodded. “Yeah. Rose Tyler.”

The smile faded, and he nodded once. “Nice to meet you, Rose.” Then he looked away from her again, staring out around the unfamiliar room.

Rose watched the back of his head, remembering the first time he’d said those words and wishing he could remember it too. She sniffed, doing her best to ignore the dampness in her eyes and the heavy weight that had settled in her stomach. “Can... can I get you something to eat, or...?”

The Doctor shook his head. He rubbed the tops of his arms, silent for a long moment, before he said, “I want to go home.”

“Yeah.” With a deep breath, Rose wiped at her eyes and stood up. “Me too.”

\--

“It’s not very big,” said Rose, stopping in the living room of their flat. “Course, it’s about twice the size of the flat mum and I shared when I was growing up....”

After Rose had showered and signed for the Doctor’s discharge, Torchwood hadn’t put up much protest. The other Squadra victims were beginning to wake up and Torchwood had its hands full. Besides, there wasn’t much they could do for the Doctor and Jake had encouraged Rose to get him into the flat and into his daily life in hopes that it might jog his memories.

The Doctor came to a stop next to her, posture tense and arms hanging awkwardly next to his sides. “It’s nice,” he said vaguely. His eyes roamed restlessly over the kitchen and hallway before settling on the living room.

His gazed stopped on a row of photographs, sitting on the mantel. Without a word, he moved past her, and then bent down to inspect the pictures. Rose swallowed hard as the Doctor’s eyes passed over pictures of Tony, of Jackie and Pete, and then, finally, of the pair of them. There were two photos of them. One taken a few weeks after Bad Wolf Bay, asleep in each other’s arms on her mum’s sofa. And the second, taken almost a year later, grinning at each other outside of Torchwood’s downtown office. They were both covered head-to-foot in alien goo, having just stopped the Yarala from using the Underground to store their eggs.

“That’s my family,” Rose explained. She moved over to stand beside him and pointed to the pictures as she spoke. “That’s my baby brother, Tony, and my dad, Pete. And that’s my mum—Jackie Tyler. And that’s... “

“Us,” the Doctor finished. He paused. “We look happy.”

“We were— _are_ ,” Rose corrected herself. She flexed her hand, feeling a pang and then glanced at the Doctor’s empty hand. Could she reach out and take it? Would it make him feel better to know that, as hard as this was, she wasn’t going to leave him on his own?

“That last picture, it was taken at Torchwood.”

“Yeah,” Rose said softly. “I work for them.”

The Doctor glanced sideways at her. “And me?”

She hesitated. “You sort of... you’re more of a consult, really.”

“I consult for Torchwood?” he said dubiously. “That’s my job.”

“Sort of,” Rose said, shifting. “I mean, it’s part of your job, but it’s not.... it’s a bit complicated.”

“Right,” he said dully. He backed away, squinting around the rest of the flat. “What about me? My family?” He tried for a smile. “What sort of parents call their son ‘Doctor’ anyway?”

Rose’s heart sank. She couldn’t tell him the truth—not without explaining the half-alien part, and he’d already taken in so much. And even beyond that, even if she _did_ tell the truth... he’d barely spoken to her about his family. All she knew was that they’d all died in the Time War.

“I wouldn’t know,” Rose finally said. “I’ve never met them.” Off his look, she added, “They’re dead.”

A look of dismay passed over his face. “I can’t remember them,” he murmured. “Who forgets their own _parents_?”

“That’s not your fault,” Rose whispered, “that’s the Squadra - they’re the ones who took those memories from you.”

The Doctor sunk down onto the nearby sofa, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders slumping. Rose stayed where she was, standing awkwardly over him. The urge to put her arms around him and tell him it was going to be all right was overwhelming - but she had no idea whether he would welcome her comfort.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and then with what looked like great effort, turned his face up towards hers. “What about the rest of my family? Friends? There must be _someone_.”

Rose swallowed. She remembered what he was like in those early days—all that grief and pain and gruffness from the Time War. And now he would have to go through it all over again. His entire family was gone—and she would have to be the one to tell him.

“I don’t think there is,” she finally said. “You’ve always been....” she paused and then finished, “lonely.”

“I’m on my own,” he whispered, like the enormity of it was too much for him to comprehend.

“You’ve got me,” Rose said, trying to keep her tone light. But her voice cracked and she hastily looked away, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes.

There was a long moment of silence and when she looked back at him, the Doctor was squinting out the window, fingers idly tapping against his knee. He was trying to be stoic, but Rose could tell that he was only hanging on by a thin thread.

Again, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him it was going to be okay. But he was awkward around her at best. At worst, a part of her wondered if he was beginning to resent her. He’d woken up without any memories—and there she’d been a second later with the news that—surprise—they’d been living together for two years. He hadn’t had much of a choice when he’d left Torchwood with her, had he? He’d had nowhere else to go. And nothing but her word that she was telling the truth.

The Doctor broke the heavy silence. “How long have we been together?”

“A few years,” said Rose, relieved to be able to talk to him about something she _did_ know. She smiled gently. “We were sort of... separated for a while, but we found a way back to each other.”

“Separated?”

“It was... complicated.”

“Ah.” He paused. “And we’re not...” he gestured at her, looking faintly embarrassed. “Not married?”

Rose felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. She got that feeling of judgement again—like he was looking for something in her and not finding it. In truth, lately she’d found herself thinking that being married to the Doctor would be nice—not _necessary_ , but... nice. Jackie, of course, could barely go a week without dropping a hint. As for the Doctor himself—Rose had been reluctant to bring it up, in case it sounded too human or too domestic. But she had never had reason to doubt him or what they had together. Marriage would have just been a symbol recognizing what was already there.

“No,” Rose said. “I suppose... neither of us thought we needed to be married.”

The Doctor nodded and Rose felt herself relax a little--maybe she could get through to him after all. Maybe Jake was right--maybe like those other victims, they would find a way to cope and move on with her lives.

The Doctor gave a sudden, loud yawn. Rose flushed--of course he was tired. He’d barely woken up from an alien attack and he’d spent the last few hours racking his brain for _any_ details of the life he’d lost. Anyone would be exhausted in his place.

“You should get some rest,” she said. She looked around--and then the reality of their situation hit her. They lived together in a small London flat with a bedroom that they shared. Her heart sunk when her eyes met his--and she flashed back to what it had been like, that first night when they got home from Bad Wolf Bay. She’d been too awkward and too confused back then to even suggest that they share the bedroom. She felt the same way now.

It was like the past two years had never happened. They had to start all over again.

She searched around for something to say. “Okay, you’ve been injured, you take the bedroom,” she said. “Sorry if it’s a little messy - things were rushed this morning.”

“And where will you sleep?”

She clenched her hands in front of her so he wouldn’t see that they were shaking. “The sofa,” she said. “It’s fine... I mean, I’ll be fine.”

His gaze was suddenly concerned and Rose resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Oh, he _would_ get all noble about the bloody sleeping arrangements.

“You take the bedroom,” he said. He experimentally patted the cushion next to him and then gave her the fakest looking smile she’d ever seen. “It’s no problem.”

“You’re the one who just woke up in the hospital after being attacked by _aliens_.”

“Yeah, and it’s your flat--”

“It’s _our_ flat,” Rose said, her voice rising. “ _Ours_. And our bedroom too.”

His gaze met hers for the briefest of moments and then he jumped to his feet, pushing by her on the way to the bedroom. She heard him mumble “doesn’t _feel_ like my flat” on the way and she squeezed her eyes shut, heart suddenly pounding. She sank into the sofa cushions after he was gone, trying not to cry.

\--

[Continue to part 2](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/192296.html?style=mine)


	2. Chapter 1

Rose woke up feeling stiff and dreading the day ahead of her. The sofa wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a bed, and it had been a long time since she’d had to sleep on such a small surface — or alone. She sat up slowly, cracking her back and rolling her neck. How long was it going to be until the Doctor was ready to share a bed again? How long would it be until it stopped feeling like the man she loved had been replaced by a stranger? She could remember feeling like this the Christmas he’d regenerated, but it hadn’t taken her too long to come around to the idea that he was the same man wearing a different face. Now, it felt like the opposite — a new man in the Doctor’s body.  
  
 _You’re getting ahead of yourself_ , she thought, taking a deep breath. It had been less than a day. She couldn’t give up on him yet.  
  
But when she turned around and caught sight of the Doctor standing in the kitchen, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.  
  
He was standing with his back to her, his arms folded defensively across his chest like he used to do. She could tell from his posture that he wasn’t any more at ease with his surroundings than he had been the day before. His suit jacket was nowhere to be found, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His damp hair was lying flat, like he hadn’t quite known what to do with it, and he appeared to be having a staring contest with the refrigerator.  
  
Rose swung her legs over the side of the sofa and stood up, stretching as she walked toward the kitchen. “Morning.” She glanced towards the fridge. “Is... everything okay?”  
  
“Yeah, fine,” he said, in that tone of voice that always meant it was anything other than “fine”.  
  
Rose frowned. It was hard to get the Doctor to open up in the best of times — how was she supposed to do it when he didn’t even trust her?  
  
“Have we got another clothes cupboard or something?” he went on. “All I could find to wear were suits.”  
  
Rose blinked. “Um... no.” She gave him an awkward smile. “You just... like wearing suits.”  
  
The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. “What, every day?”  
  
“Um... yes?” Rose shrugged. “It looks good on you.”  
  
He stared at her like she was mad — like  _she_  was the one who wore the same thing every day — and then went back to staring at the fridge like it was some kind of enemy. Rose looked from the Doctor to the fridge and back again.  
  
“If you’re hungry, you know, help yourself,” said Rose. “I mean, it is your food.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve got that, thanks,” the Doctor said, sharp enough that Rose raised her eyebrows. Catching her look, he sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I want,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what I  _like_.” He dropped his hands to his sides, defeat written all over his face. “I can’t even make myself breakfast.”  
  
“It’s all right,” Rose said reflexively, stepping around him into the kitchen. “I’ll make something, you--”  
  
“No.” The sharp edge to his voice was back again, that tone he had when his frustration was ready to boil over. “It’s fine, I can manage.” He reached around her, grabbing something from the fruit basket.  
  
Rose spun around. “You don’t actually...” She flinched as he bit into the pear and pulled a face. “...like pears.”  
  
The Doctor scowled at the pear as though it was solely responsible for all his woes. “Yeah,” he said curtly. “Guess not.” He looked around the room, then pulled open the cupboard beneath the sink and tossed the pear in the bin.  
  
“Here.” Well aware that his irritation was growing every second, Rose grabbed a banana from the fruit basket and tentatively held it out. “You like bananas.”  
  
The Doctor stared at the banana in her hand, apparently trying to decide whether he ought to accept her help or continue forging ahead on his own. It would be driving him crazy, this sudden and total dependence on her. The Doctor often stubbornly insisted on going it alone and now he had no choice but to rely completely on her.  
  
Knowing he didn’t trust her still hurt, though.  
  
Finally he reached out, taking the banana from her. “Thanks.” With a half-hearted nod of appreciation, he turned and sat down at the table, peeling the banana with his back to her.  
  
Rose leaned back against the kitchen counter, biting her lip and searching for a way to break the silence. The Doctor retreating into himself was nothing new; she frequently had to coax him out of his shell. She could only imagine how much harder that would be now that he didn’t trust her, and so she was reluctant to let him stew in his own thoughts for long.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.  
  
“Fine,” was all he said, and Rose wasn’t sure whether or not it was a lie. “You?”  
  
 _No_ , she thought. The sofa had been too small to get properly comfortable and she’d been worried sick about the Doctor and what the future held for them. But she shrugged and busied herself with making a cup of coffee. “Yeah, fine,” she lied.  
  
“I’ll take the sofa tonight.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t looking for a debate. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed again.”  
  
Rose opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. Instead she took a sip of coffee and tried to ignore the heavy silence that had fallen between them.  
  
Finally, the Doctor creaked around in the chair, tossing the empty banana peel on the table next to him. “I’m sorry,” he said. He paused. “I can’t be very easy to live with at the moment.”  
  
Rose almost sagged in relief. It wasn’t a lot—but it was at least  _some_  indication that he was willing to work with her. Setting down her coffee mug, she took a seat across from him at the table.  
  
“It’s okay,” she said. “Believe it or not, we’ve had worse.”  
  
The Doctor didn’t look very reassured. His forehead wrinkled in a frown. “Like what?”  
  
Rose hesitated. How to tell him about being separated by parallel universes without sounding like a complete nutter? Searching for a distraction, her eyes landed on the discarded banana peel. She picked it up, gesturing vaguely with her hands.  
  
“Still hungry?” she said. “I could make you... eggs and toast or something.”  
  
“No, I’m okay. Really.” He paused and then added a gruff, “Thank you.”  
  
Rose nodded and tossed the banana peel in the bin. She sat back down at the kitchen table and took a sip of coffee.  
  
The Doctor watched her in contemplative silence. Then he said, “Tell me something else.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“I dunno, anything.” He paused. “How did we meet?”  
  
Rose nearly choked on her coffee. She wasn’t sure ‘in a basement with shop window dummies trying to kill us’ would do much to help him trust her. “I used to work in a shop,” she finally said. “And you were sort of... there.... one day.”  
  
The Doctor blinked at her. “I see.”  
  
“That was a rubbish story, I’m sorry.” She frowned and after thinking a moment, she said, “We went out for chips. It was our first proper date.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “I paid.”  
  
She looked over at the Doctor. He mustered up a smile. “And we’ve.... been together ever since?”  
  
Rose shifted in her chair. “Not exactly. We were friends for a long time first —  _best_  friends. And then it just sort of...” she waved a hand at him, “happened.”  
  
His eyebrows jumped up slightly. “Right,” he said slowly. He was still smiling, but it was his fake smile, the sort of smile he wore when he was  _really_  thinking about how fast the Earth was turning and what Weevils ate for breakfast rather than whatever she was talking about.  
  
Rose fought a wave of desperation. Voice sounding unnaturally high, she said, “We’ve got a date at mum’s tonight.” Off his look, she clarified, “My mum and dad—and my baby brother, Tony—they’re sort of your adopted family, yeah? She’s been demanding we head over ever since you were hurt yesterday. I’m surprised she hasn’t broken down the door yet, actually.”  
  
“Oh,” said the Doctor. His smile slipped and he frowned, not quite able to hide his sudden uneasiness. “Well then. I suppose I had better meet them. Again.”  
  
Without thinking, Rose reached across the table, resting her hand on top of his. The Doctor blinked down at their hands and then slowly raised his head to look at her.  
  
“They know what happened,” she said. “They just want to help.”  
  
The Doctor held her gaze for another moment and then nodded. “Okay.”  
  
But he withdrew his hand from hers, resting it on his lap.  
  
\----  
  
The Doctor combed through her mum’s mansion like he had through their flat. He peered at pictures, flipped through magazines and newspapers strewn out on the kitchen table, and spent a long time staring into the back garden like it would suddenly reveal all the gaping holes in his memory. Rose followed behind him, explaining when she could, but mostly arguing back-and-forth with her mum.  
  
“Are you  _sure_  the doctors checked him out properly at that place?”  
  
“Yes, mum. Torchwood knows what it’s dealing with.”  
  
“I never trusted that place, you know. Do you remember that time your father had a sore back and they thought he had contracted some sort of alien parasite? Well, it took the chiropractor three sessions to sort that one out. Made the whole lot of you alien experts look downright ridiculous.”  
  
“ _Mum_ , they know what they’re talking about--”  
  
“All I’m saying is, we could take him to see a real doctor.” She turned to the Doctor suddenly, reaching out to pat him on the cheek. The Doctor stared back at her, looking a little bit like a cornered animal. “What do you think, sweetheart?” she said in an overly sugary voice. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Seeing a proper professional doctor?”  
  
“Mum, he’s lost his memories--he’s not  _five_.”  
  
Much to Rose’s relief, Pete finally intervened with a couple glasses of wine and an armful of photo albums. He cleared his throat loudly and said, “Why don’t you two go check up on dinner while the Doctor and I flip through these old pictures?”  
  
The Doctor sent Rose such a pleading look that she had to bite down a laugh--for a second, she could almost believe that this was an ordinary visit to her parents with the Doctor silently begging her to save him from Jackie.  
  
And then it dawned on her that maybe she was one of the people the Doctor was now eager to get some space from.  
  
Feeling vaguely sick, she said, “That sounds like a great idea.” Her voice sounded high and false even to her own ears. She grabbed the wine glasses and passed one to Jackie, giving her mum a Significant Look.  
  
“Give him the name of that brain specialist, dear,” Jackie said, but she followed Rose out of the room, calling over her shoulder. “That Dr Charles — he and his wife had us over for a dinner party just last week, you remember.”  
  
Pete waved her off and Rose took a sip of wine, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. Once they were in the kitchen, Rose collapsed into the nearest chair, fingers playing at the bottom of her wine glass. Jackie made a show of bustling around the kitchen, peering aimlessly into cupboards and drawers.  
  
“He seemed fine to me,” she said as she went. “Bit quieter than usual, I suppose, but that’s nice, isn’t it? I could actually hear myself talking for once. Now where did that maid say she left the roast....”  
  
Jackie opened the oven and made an “ah” noise upon finding the roast. Rose rested her chin on the palm of her hand, watching her mum with tired eyes. She took another sip of wine, feeling light-headed. From down the hall, she heard Pete muttering something that sounded like “wedding pictures” followed by “ _second_  wedding pictures.” Outside a car drove by the house and Rose tensed, wondering if it was Tony being dropped off after his play date. Tony worshiped the Doctor — how could they _begin_  to explain what happened to him?   
  
Jackie set the oven and then turned around, her eyes softening when she found Rose hunched over the kitchen table. “Rose, sweetheart,” she said gently, “how are you  _really_  doing?”  
  
Something tightened in Rose’s chest and it hurt to draw in her next breath. “I’m...” she began — and then promptly burst into tears.  
  
Jackie was there a second later, murmuring “Oh, Rose” and pulling her into her arms. Rose went limp, muffling a sob against Jackie’s chest as her mum’s arms wrapped around her. She rocked Rose gently, saying nothing.  
  
Rose screwed up her eyes and breathed in deeply before choking out another sob. She tried to keep quiet, thinking of the Doctor and Pete in the next room, but all her pent-up frustration and grief seemed to come pouring out at once.  
  
She thought about the blank way the Doctor had moved through their flat, the incomprehension in his eyes whenever he flipped through photos, and the way he looked at her... like he scarcely believed her, like he barely trusted her.  
  
“He’s gone,” she finally whispered, voice cracking. “It feels like he’s gone, Mum.”  
  
“Oh, Rose,” said Jackie. She smoothed Rose’s hair back. And then said, “He’s still alive, Rose. That’s something, isn’t it?”  
  
Rose breathed out deeply before brushing furiously at her red eyes. “I know,” she said. “And I’m  _so glad_  that he is, but what if.... Mum, what if he never remembers?”  
  
“You know what the Doctor’s like, sweetheart,” said Jackie. “He had some trick up his sleeve, I’ll bet.”  
  
“Maybe,” said Rose. She flashed back to what he said, right before he sacrificed himself to that thing-- _Rose, Time Lords have this trick_ \--but  _what_  trick? What had he meant? And what if he had been wrong? What if he was too human now—not _quite_  Time Lord enough?  
  
“And even if he doesn’t....” Jackie trailed off and then said. “You remember what it was like with Pete those first few months, yeah? He looked and sounded like Pete — but he wasn’t  _my_  Pete. He had this other set of memories—memories with another Jackie.” She paused. “I couldn’t be that Jackie for him and he couldn’t be my Pete... but we made it work, Rose.”  
  
Rose nodded and Jackie brushed away the last of her tears with the pad of her thumb before rising to her feet. “Mum....” she reached for Jackie’s hand and stared up at her pleadingly. “It’s just that... when he looks at me, it feels like he....” she took a deep breath and then in a rush, she said, “he doesn’t love me.”  
  
Tears blurred her vision again and Jackie squeezed her hand. “Rose, try and think of it from his perspective. As far as he’s concerned, he’s never seen you before in his life.” She softened her voice. “It doesn’t mean he won’t love you or that a part of him doesn’t remember you, but you need to give him some time. Everything is new to him right now, sweetheart.”  
  
“I keep trying to tell myself that it doesn’t matter — that it’s not his fault and he can’t help how he feels.” She paused. “But it still hurts. I miss him so much.”  
  
Jackie sighed deeply, her eyes full of sadness. “Rose, he’ll come around.”  
  
“Yeah,” she said, voice strained. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
“And god knows how much that man loves you,” Jackie said. “He’d never want you to doubt that, not ever.”  
  
Another tear splashed down Rose’s face as she nodded. “I know—you’re right,” she said as Jackie busied herself with the roast again, giving Rose time to compose herself. “Thanks, mum.”  
  
She excused herself and headed to the bathroom, intent on at least making herself presentable before dinner. Jackie was right, though. It  _wasn’t_  the Doctor’s fault that he didn’t remember or that he didn’t trust her. Right now he was just a bloke who had nothing. It was her job to keep it together if there was still going to be a future for them.  
  
\--  
  
Tony was already standing in the door to the living room, staring unabashedly at the Doctor, when Rose got back to the room.  
  
“You remember what we told you yesterday, Tony,” Pete was saying, “don’t you?”  
  
Tony gave no particular indication of having heard his father. He continued to stare at the Doctor, oblivious to the way the Doctor was slowly pushing himself further and further back into the sofa in retreat.  
  
“Did you really forget everything?” he asked, his eyes wide with childish curiosity.  
  
In other circumstances, Rose would have found it comical how on-edge the Doctor was around an seven-year-old. Looking at Tony like he was anticipating an attack, the Doctor nodded. “Yes.”  
  
“Even us?” prompted Tony, still sounding fascinated. “Even Rose?”  
  
The Doctor sat frozen, still looking about ready to flee the room at any second. Rose felt a stab of irritation — with herself, with her brother and with the circumstances — and she scowled at Tony. “Why don’t you go help Mum set the table?” she asked sharply.  
  
Tony looked unimpressed with the prospect. “But--”  
  
“Go!” Rose snapped.  
  
“Dad!”  
  
Pete stood, and Rose thought he looked every bit as eager to get out of the room as the Doctor did. “Come on,” he said to Tony, gesturing for the boy to follow him to the kitchen. “I’ll help.”   
  
Tony obeyed, though not without pulling a face at Rose. Rose folded her arms, now feeling guilty for the way she’d snapped, and to the Doctor she said, “Sorry.”  
  
“S’okay,” he mumbled without looking at her. He shifted forward to the edge of the sofa again, reaching to pull the photo album on the coffee table closer. He studied one glossy page before flipping to the next, his expression unreadable.  
  
Rose watched anxiously, unsure if she ought to go over and offer explanations for each photo or leave him on his own. She wished she had a better understanding of what he needed now, what he wanted from her, how she could begin to make things better. She tried to imagine what she would do right now if this was before the attack, if he was the Doctor, properly, memories and all. Sit next to him, take his hand? What would he do if she did that now?  
  
“These pictures of your parents’ wedding,” he said, abruptly pulling her from her thoughts, “I’m not in them.”  
  
Rose hesitated before answering, struck once again by the vast amount of personal history the Doctor could no longer remember. She’d asked her family not to bring up anything outlandish, be it parallel worlds or time machines or biological metacrises. She knew she was stalling, and she knew the Doctor desperately wanted answers, but she didn’t think it would be kind to dump so much unfathomable information on him yet. He was overwhelmed enough as it was.  
  
“We weren’t together yet,” she said. “That was... before you.”  
  
The Doctor nodded. He flipped back another page, gesturing to a picture of Rose with Mickey. “Were you with him?”  
  
“What, Mickey? No, he’s... he was just a mate.”  
  
The Doctor turned to another page of photos. “He’s in a lot of these family photos,” he said matter-of-factly. “Right up until...” He turned to a page midway through the album — the first page with a photo of him.  
  
“We lost contact,” she said briskly.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Does it matter?” What could she tell him had happened to Mickey without lying — or sounding mad?  
  
The Doctor raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “No,” he said after a moment. “I suppose not.”  
  
A silence fell between them that seemed to stretch on and on. Rose heard the frostiness in his voice and knew he must feel like she was withholding so much. Maybe it was a mistake, bringing him to see her family so soon. She’d meant it as encouragement, a reassurance that he wasn’t alone — much needed, she’d thought, given the way he’d asked after his own family. But all it seemed to have done was make him more uncomfortable.  
  
It was Tony who broke the silence, poking his head in the door to announce, “Dinner’s ready!” before heading back to the dining room.  
  
Rose looked at the Doctor. He usually made a show of being put-upon when they spent the evening with her family, but over the years Rose had grown confident that this was theatricality and little else. She knew that in truth he was very fond of his adopted family — even her mother.  
  
Right now, though, she was sure the  _let’s get this over with_  look on his face was completely genuine.  
  
“We don’t have to stay long,” she said quietly. “We’ll leave right after dinner.”  
  
The Doctor stood and gave a forced smile as he moved to the doorway. “It’s fine,” he said, in a voice that meant it wasn’t.  
  
\---  
  
Dinner that night was the most awkward Rose had ever experienced. Even years ago, when she’d first met the Doctor, before he’d regenerated, back when he used to staunchly refuse to do anything bordering on “domestic”... even in those days she couldn't recall ever feeling like she was trying to bridge such a big gulf. At least he’d been himself then, for all the show he made about not wanting to be around her family more than was strictly necessary.  
  
Now, though, she was keenly aware of his discomfort. He sat beside her at the table and spent most of the meal staring down at his plate, speaking only when spoken to and doing his best to become invisible.  
  
Across the table, Tony stared at the Doctor unceasingly, suspiciously enthralled by the stranger wearing the Doctor’s face.  
  
“I got an A on my science project,” Tony had announced, and from the intensity of his stare at the Doctor, Rose knew well it was intended for one particular person.  
  
Unfortunately for Tony, the Doctor seemed committed to staring at his mashed potatoes in the hopes of avoiding eye-contact with everyone at the table. He didn’t even look up until Rose nudged him under the table and quietly explained, “ _You_ helped him with that.”  
  
“Did I?” he’d muttered. “Oh. Um. Well done.” He’d punctuated it with a brief and insincere smile, then gone back to staring at his food. Tony, much too young to hide his disappointment, had responded by stabbing his potatoes with his fork.  
  
Jackie and Pete did their best to fill the silences with idle chatter, and much of the conversation revolved around their high-society acquaintances, people Rose could barely keep track of, much less the Doctor.  
  
It was as the main course was finally drawing to a close that Jackie turned to the Doctor and said, “You know, your hair’s getting a bit long. The two of you come ‘round tomorrow, I’ll give you a trim.”  
  
Rose nearly choked on her wine, and the Doctor stared down the table at Jackie with wide, horrified eyes. “What?”  
  
“Right, sorry,” she went on, “I used to be a hairdresser. That bit at the back there, I could...” She mimed a cutting motion with her pointer and middle fingers.  
  
The Doctor said nothing, but Rose stared at her mother with arched eyebrows. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
“Well, it is getting a little long,” Jackie said earnestly, pointing in the Doctor’s direction.  
  
“You might not have noticed but we’ve got  _other things going on right now,_  Mum,” Rose snapped.  
  
Jackie sat back, surprised by the outburst. “Well, you wanted us to act normal--”  
  
“I asked you to treat him like an adult, not to worry about his  _hair_ , there’s a difference--”  
  
“It’s fine,” said the Doctor abruptly, looking uneasily from one to the other. Rose could hear the unspoken plea --  _don’t make this worse_  -- and shut her eyes, guilt quelling her sudden temper. “Really, it’s, um, fine. But... thank you.”  
  
The awkward silence at the table stretched on for some time, until Pete finally cleared his throat. “So... tea?”  
  
“Actually, I think we should get going,” said Rose quietly.  
  
\---  
  
Rain pounded against the living room windows when they got home.  
  
Rose chucked her handbag in the corner, feeling more frustrated and hopeless than ever. Visiting her family had been meant to help the Doctor, to show him he had a support system and people who cared about him. Instead, visiting her family seemed to make him more confused and resentful. She worried that it had encouraged him to feel and think of himself as a stranger.  
  
Rose felt a shudder pass through her. Even though the Doctor was standing right behind her, she suddenly and intensely missed him. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to lean into him for a long cuddle.  
  
She briefly contemplated asking him for a hug and then rejected it. If he backed away or said “no”... she wasn’t sure how she would handle it.  
  
Putting on a brave face, she turned to him and said, “Not so bad, was it? I’ve never see you and my mum get on so well.”  
  
The Doctor nodded vaguely, his thoughts obviously far away. Rose’s heart ached. She wished he would talk to her about what he was thinking. She could understand how hard it was for him, but she couldn’t help him unless he talked to her.  
  
“There was a computer in the bedroom,” he said abruptly. “Could I use it?”  
  
“Yeah,” Rose said. Then, “It’s yours too.”  
  
“Right,” he said and then he disappeared, closing the bedroom door behind him.  
  
Rose sat down on the sofa, fighting down another bout of tears as she fumbled for the television remote. As she flicked on the news, she found that she couldn’t remember the last time they had put closed doors between each other.  
  
\---  
  
When the Doctor emerged, he looked so agitated that Rose immediately turned off the telly and pushed herself to her feet. He was holding two pieces of printed paper and she leaned forward to get a better look, but he hastily drew them to his side.  
  
“What’s going on?” she said.  
  
“It’s curious,” he began, almost conversationally, but there was a hard edge to his eyes that told Rose he was furious. “There I am—awake in a hospital bed, all my memories gone, and then you come along. You know me best, you said, and why shouldn’t you? Apparently we’ve been together for years—”  
  
Rose blinked. “ _Apparently_?”  
  
“But you barely answer any of my questions—not about my family, not even about how we met. And that’s weird, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you say that’s a little bit weird?”  
  
Rose’s chest hitched. Never before had the Doctor spoken to her so coldly—even on the rare occasions that they fought, he’d never turned so much anger and impatience in her direction.  
  
“It’s just... it’s complicated,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she could hear how ridiculous they sounded.  
  
The Doctor looked incredulous. “Do you think I care about that? This is my  _life_.”  
  
“I know,” Rose said, “and I’m trying my best, I promise.”  
  
The Doctor held up the papers he was carrying. Rose felt sick—they were printouts from the tabloids. On the first one, the headline read  **PETE TYLER REUNITED WITH WIFE AND LONG-LOST DAUGHTER**.  
  
“The article says she just appeared out of nowhere one day,” said the Doctor in a controlled voice. “Odd, isn’t it? How exactly do you lose your only daughter for 20 years? But then, you’re not the only one, are you?” He held up the second article. On it was a picture of both of them, holding hands, and taken soon after they stepped off the plane from Norway. Rose felt a fresh wave of grief—even back then, even when things between them had been so confusing, they stood so close together, like they were terrified of being separated at any moment.  
  
She wanted that man back so very badly.  
  
 **VITEX HEIRESS RETURNS WITH UNKNOWN PARAMOUR,**  read the headline.  **‘HE’S AFTER HER MONEY,’ CLAIM WORRIED FRIENDS.**  
  
Rose almost laughed at the headline. “Rubbish,” she said. “You know how those papers work.”  
  
It wasn’t the right thing to say. If possible, the Doctor seemed even angrier.  
  
“How am I supposed to know what’s right and what isn’t?” He slammed the printouts down on the coffee table and dug his wallet out of his back pocket. He picked out his driver’s license. “John Smith, it says.” He pulled out his NHS card. “John Smith.” His library card. “John Smith. Is that who I am? Is that my name?”  
  
“Sort of,” Rose said. “It’s your legal name, but...”  
  
“Oh, let me guess, it’s  _complicated,_ ” said the Doctor.  
  
“Listen, I didn’t  _think_  about it, all right? Everyone calls you the Doctor. That’s who you are.”  
  
“How am I supposed to  _know_ that?”  
  
“You just.... you’ve got to trust me.” She paused. “It’s not easy for me either. I have all these memories of how much we’ve done together, all these  _things_  we’ve experienced... and you haven’t got any of them.”  
  
He hunched his shoulders defensively. “I wish I did,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t even know the first thing about myself.”  
  
“You’re learning,” Rose offered. She cracked a smile. “You know you hate pears.”  
  
He didn’t smile back. “And what about us? We’re not married. You’re rich.” He paused. “I haven’t even got a proper job.”  
  
Rose felt a stab of annoyance. “It’s my dad who’s rich, not me,” she said with sudden vehemence. “And I’ll tell you something else, Doctor. The reason you lost your memories? It was ‘cos you were saving someone else.  _That’s_  the sort of man you are—you never even stopped to hesitate.” She paused. “I hate you a little for that, but that’s the reason I love you.” She choked back a sob. “I love you  _so_  much, and if I could give you all the answers you wanted, I would.”  
  
The Doctor turned around. He no longer seemed quite as angry, but he was still agitated. He moved towards the door.  
  
“I’m going for a walk,” he declared.  
  
Whatever Rose had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What? Right now?”  
  
“I need to clear my head. Think.”  
  
“But it’s pouring out there.”  
  
He shrugged. “I’ll live.”  
  
She jogged after him. “At least take an umbrella.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“Do you want me to go with you? You might get lost...”  
  
“ _Rose_ ,” he spun around, but his face softened when he saw the stricken look on her face. “I need some time alone, okay?”  
  
Rose took a step back. “All right. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”  
  
“Thanks,” he said tersely. In a few more steps, he was gone, and the front door shut heavily behind him.  
  
Rose stumbled back over to the sofa and collapsed down on it, trying to hold back her sobs.  
  
\--  
  
The rain was colder than he’d expected. He stood outside the apartment building with his shoulders hunched and his arms folded, and for a moment he considered heading back upstairs to fetch an umbrella or a jacket. But then he shook his head.  
  
No, he decided abruptly, continuing on down the pavement. He needed to think and he needed some space, hypothermia be damned. It couldn’t be any worse than what had already happened to him.  
  
This was his fault, apparently. Rose had said it like it was a good thing, something noble and heroic — something that made her love him. He thought it made him sound like an idiot. Had he known then what would happen, he wondered? He must not have. Who would ever willingly do this to themselves?  
  
He stared down at the pavement as he walked, avoiding large puddles and eye-contact with anyone who passed him. London was bursting with people and not a single one of them meant anything to him.  
  
He barely meant anything to himself. The Doctor or John Smith — neither name felt right. “John”, well, that was a  _proper_ name at least; it just didn’t feel like  _his_  name. Nothing really felt like “his” anymore. His name, his clothes, his flat, even his girlfriend... they all belonged to another man. And that man was gone.  
  
Which left him with nothing. Hand-me-downs at best, relics of a life he couldn’t remember, taunting him. He stopped under an awning, rubbing his arms against the cold and staring out at the people who passed him sheltered under umbrellas and raincoats. It would be so easy to disappear. There was no nostalgia here, nothing for him to miss. A block away from his flat felt no nearer to home than ten blocks, or twenty, or a hundred. He was a nobody on an anonymous street with nothing left to lose.  
  
But he had nowhere to go, either, and no means to get there. He couldn’t  _leave_ ; he couldn’t even make himself breakfast. Whether he liked it or not, he was utterly dependent on a woman he couldn’t remember.  
  
With his previous anger flaring up, he stalked down the pavement again. It was all a bit convenient, her being there when he woke up. It wasn’t as though he had any choice but to believe her. What if she’d lied about it all? How could he possibly know? It would be so easy for her to invent things, to try and steer him in whatever direction she wanted.  
  
He sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe she was exactly who she said she was, and she’d lost something, too. What must that be like, having someone you loved treat you like a stranger?  
  
He scowled at his trainers, ducking through a gateway to a park. That still didn’t give her a right to hide things from him. If she cared as much as she said, she wouldn’t be so reluctant to tell him anything of substance. He sat down on a bench, his arms wrapped tight around his chest.  
  
Eyes closed, he tipped his face up towards the rain. Maybe it didn’t matter so much, in the long run. Hearing memories and experiences retold by someone else wasn’t the same as remembering them; listening to a story wasn’t the same as living it. Even if she was honest, even if she told him every last thing she knew about him and his life, it wouldn’t be enough. Identity didn’t work like that. He couldn’t study a fact sheet and turn back into the man he used to be. Her stories were only stories to him now, even if they were true.  
  
Maybe it was better that there was no one else, that there were so few people watching him expectantly, waiting for him to give them something he couldn’t. Maybe it was better that his parents, whoever they’d been, weren’t around to look at him with the same disappointment he saw so often in Rose.  
  
He opened his eyes, looking around the empty park and swallowing thickly. She’d said he’d always been a lonely bloke. He doubted he could ever have been more lonely than he was now. 


	3. collab fic: identity theft (3/5ish)

**Title** : Identity Theft (3/5ish)  
 **Authors** : [](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/profile)[**goldy_dollar**](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/) & [](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/profile)[**_thirty2flavors**](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/)  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings** : Ten II/Rose  
 **Genre** : Angst, drama  
 **Warnings** : Mentions of suicide in this chapter. The fic also deals with  themes of memory loss.  
 **Summary** : When the Doctor is injured during an alien attack, he and Rose are left struggling to cope with the aftermath.  
 **Excerpt** : __Time Lords have this trick_ , he’d said — but he wasn’t a Time Lord anymore. She’d always known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that when she lost him it would be because he didn’t understand the limitations of his human body. But she’d never thought it would be so early, or quite like this._  
 **Previous parts** : [Part One](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/190569.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Two](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/192296.html?style=mine#cutid2)

  
He was soaked to the bone and freezing cold by the time he made it back to the flat, but he nudged the door open slowly, half-expecting to be jumped on by Rose at any second. When the door opened and Rose was nowhere to be seen, he let out a slow sigh of relief. He had come back because he was tired and cold, not because he wanted to be subjected to more of her worried hovering. She had good intentions, perhaps, but she made him feel even more helpless than he already did.

He locked the door behind him and stepped into the hallway, hugging his arms to his chest as he tried to warm up. He wanted a hot shower, and maybe some tea. Did he even like tea?

It was only as he started towards the shower that he noticed the heap of towels and clothes sitting on the kitchen table. He took a fluffy blue towel from the top of the pile and pulled it around his shoulders, then stooped to pick up the note that had fluttered to the floor.

_Doctor_ , read the unfamiliar handwriting.

_Thought you might want these when you got in. You said you wanted the sofa tonight, so I laid out your pajamas as well. If you get cold tonight there are some extra blankets in the cupboard down the hall. If you want to make coffee or tea there’s plenty in the kitchen, help yourself._

_I’ve gone to bed to read. If my light’s still on when you get in and you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask._

_Hope you had a nice walk. Sleep well._

_-Rose_

He eyed the note for a moment once he had finished reading it. It was a compromise, he suspected, between helping him and leaving him be, and he appreciated it. He set it down on the table and tugged the towel tighter, craning his neck to look back over his shoulder. She’d left the kitchen light on for him, but the hallway was dark except for the soft glow from underneath the bedroom door.

Shivering, he picked up the dry clothes and towels and headed for a shower.

\--

Rose’s fingers curled around the edges of the book she wasn’t reading as she listened to the shower run. That meant he was back safe, at least. That was a relief. He’d been gone a long time, and she’d been getting more worried by the minute. It was late and dark and cold, and she had no idea how well he still knew his way around London. If he’d got into trouble--

Sighing, she leaned back against the headboard. _He’s not a child_ , she reprimanded herself. The Doctor would hate to be thought of like that, as though he couldn’t take care of himself and needed constant supervision. He was nine hundred years old and the sole survivor of a powerful race.

She closed her eyes, her stomach clenching anxiously. She’d folded the towels and written the note because she knew he would want his space from her. What he’d read on the Internet had shaken the little faith he’d still had in her, and now she had to tread very carefully or risk him pulling away for good. She needed to give him some degree of control; she had no choice but to wait for him to make the first move.

The pipes clanged in the walls as the water in the shower was turned off. Rose stared at the ceiling, her breath catching when she heard him move past the door a few minutes later. A wave of longing swept through her. She wanted badly to open the door and go see him, but if she was honest with herself she knew it wouldn’t make her feel better. She missed _the Doctor_. The man in the living room now was not the man she’d lost.

Tossing her book onto the empty space beside her in the bed, Rose dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. It seemed like she’d done nothing else for the last two days, and she hated it. It felt as though the gap between them had never been larger. Even when they’d been separated — even when she’d been stuck here, alone, without any promise that she’d ever get back... At least then she’d known he was out there, somewhere, a universe away. Now he was a room away but he wasn’t the same, and she knew that no matter what she did she wouldn’t be able to recreate the man he’d been.

She rolled onto her side and curled up, her back to the door.

When the knock on her door came, she’d begun to drift off. The noise jerked her out of that midway daze between sleeping and wakefulness, and it took her a few confused seconds that she’d left her bedroom light on. _He must need something_ , she thought. Sitting up drowsily, she rubbed her eyes. “Come in,” she called.

To her surprise, when the door swung open the Doctor was holding a tray with some tea, milk and sugar. He froze when he saw her, the corner of his mouth tilting down in a frown. “Were you asleep? Your light was on, I thought...”

Rose shook her head. “No, it’s all right, I was just... resting my eyes.” She gave him a weak smile. Her eyes were fixed on the tray of tea. Was it a peace offering?

“Oh,” was all he said. He lingered in the doorway, looking awkwardly down at the tea, before he suddenly seemed to remember why he’d come. “I made tea, if you want some. I was making it for myself and I saw your light from the hallway and I thought...” He shrugged, gesturing with the tea tray as he took a step towards the bed. He swallowed. “‘Course, I couldn’t remember how you take your tea so I just... brought a bit of everything...”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the tray from his hands, and the Doctor looked immediately relieved to no longer be the one speaking. “That’s great.” His hair was still damp from his shower and he’d dressed in his pajamas and Rose could tell he was uncomfortable, even if he was the one who’d initiated the interaction. She folded her legs and set the tray down on the bed, making sure there was enough room for the Doctor to have a seat.

He didn’t sit, though. He stayed where he was, one hand jammed in his trouser pocket, one hand ruffling through his hair. It was a very familiar image, and as Rose stirred the sugar into her tea she tried to decide whether that made her happy or sad.

“So...” he began, casting around for a safe topic of conversation. “What are you reading?” He bent down to pick the book up off the bed, his brows scrunching together as he read the title. “Attack at Area 52?”

Rose’s cheeks went red as he studied the back flap of the jacket. “Yeah, it’s... terrible sci-fi,” she explained, suddenly embarrassed. “We sort of... make fun of them.”

The Doctor made a noncommittal noise and flipped through the book. He raised his eyebrows. “Well, that was rubbish. And the first two hundred pages were filler.”

Rose bit her lip, her stomach doing a nervous flop. The Doctor was still part-Time Lord, then, whether he remembered it or not. How long would it be until he noticed he was different than everyone else, and what would she tell him when he did? “Yeah,” she agreed, eager to change the subject. “Like I said, we sort of...”

“Make fun of it,” the Doctor finished. He tossed the book back on the bed. “Because you work for Torchwood.” He paused. “Because we work for Torchwood.”

“Yeah.” She sipped her tea and gave him a smile. “You’re sort of an expert.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Not anymore.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I should probably look for a new job. A proper one.” He paused again. “One that doesn’t require experience.” He sent her an unconvincing grin, and then his eyes widened and the grin faded away. “I must owe you rent or something.”

Rose blinked. In all her time with the Doctor, he’d never shown more than the barest recognition that life cost money. Finances and bills and taxes were all concepts he seemed to have no inclination towards. The idea of him worrying about the rent was ridiculous.

“It’s fine,” she said, once she got over the initial shock. “Really. Don’t worry about it.” At his look, she added, “I mean... we can sort that out later, once you’re a bit more... settled.”

For a moment he looked like he might argue, and Rose wondered if he was thinking of the tabloids he’d printed out and the headlines that were convinced he was after the Tyler fortune. But the fight seemed to go out of him and he shrugged, looking away from her. “If you say so.”

The difference was immediate. Whatever barrier he’d lowered minutes earlier had been hastily rebuilt. She tightened her grip on her teacup to stop herself from reaching out. “Doctor...” she began, and took a deep breath. “I know it’s hard for you right now. I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel for you, but... I really do want to help.” She swallowed. “I would never do anything to hurt you. I might not get it right all the time but I promise I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”

He stared at her, sizing her up. A beat of silence passed, and then he said, “I believe you.”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

The Doctor looked away again. “But it’d be nice if I could decide for myself what that was.” Before she could answer he nodded towards the clock on her night table and moved towards the door. “It’s late. You’ll want to get some sleep if you’re going into work tomorrow.”

He stepped into the hallway with barely a wave and shut the door behind him, leaving Rose clutching her tea in stunned silence. How strange it felt, having the Doctor resent her for making choices on his behalf.

\--

The Doctor was still sleeping when Rose made it into the kitchen the next morning. It was rare that he slept longer than her; what constituted a full night’s rest for him would have left her groggy and baggy-eyed. Over the years she’d grown used to waking up to him cooking breakfast or sitting up in bed, glasses on his nose, tapping away at the computer or trying to fiddle with one of his numerous gadgets.

His eyes were closed now, though, and Rose lingered in the doorway to the living room, biting her lip and frowning. He didn’t look terribly comfortable. He was too tall to fit on the sofa properly; one of his arms dangled over the edge, knuckles brushing the carpet. His head was wedged against the arm of the sofa at an awkward angle, and most of his blanket had fallen on the floor.

She had already crossed the room before she caught herself and stepped back, feeling daft. How many times would the Doctor have to make it clear that he wanted his distance from her before the message stuck?

The problem was that he _looked_ so much like the Doctor — especially now, sleeping, when she couldn’t see how he held himself differently, or watched her like she might be the enemy, or how he kept his body angled away from her rather than towards her. It was hard to reconcile who he was now with who she expected him to be, and Rose surprised herself by thinking that it might be much easier for both of them if he had a new face to match the new personality. At least then she wouldn’t have to constantly remind herself that he was no longer who she expected him to be.

She massaged her temples as she stepped back into the kitchen. This wasn’t fair to him, either. He had all sorts of expectations to live up to and no starting point. What did _she_ expect from him, anyway? Did she really think that with the right patience she could mold him back into who he used to be?

She looked over her shoulder, watching him sleep soundly on the sofa. She thought about all the guilt from the Time War he still carried with him, and the countless other things he’d seen and done that he still didn’t dare talk about, things she caught just glimpses of in his eyes sometimes when he’d had a particularly rough day. She thought about all the times she caught him staring at the sky and _knew_ he was missing the TARDIS and resenting the way he was well and truly stuck. Maybe...

Maybe, if nothing else, he was finally free from all that.

Sighing, Rose rubbed her eyes and glanced at her watch. She didn’t particularly feel like going to work, and she knew “my personal life is in shambles because of an alien octopus” was as good a reason as any to call out. But she wanted to speak with Jake, wanted to learn more about the past Squadra victims and get an update on the current ones. And besides — she reckoned the Doctor would appreciate the time to himself.

With one last glance at the Doctor, Rose took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and braced herself for the worst as she slipped out the front door.

\--

The first thing Rose did when she got to Torchwood was head straight for Jake’s office. She kept her head down as she ducked into the elevator, jabbing the ‘close door’ button with her thumb. Everyone in the building would know what had happened to the Doctor and she had no desire to stand around answering their questions. _How’s the Doctor doing? Is everything okay? How are you getting on?_ Rose doubted she had the patience for those questions, no matter how well-intentioned they were. She walked briskly from the elevator to his office, knocking once on the door.

“Come in,” she heard him call, and she watched his jaw go slack in surprise as she stepped through the door. “Rose! I didn’t expect you back at work so early. Is...?”

His unfinished question hung in the air, and though Rose knew what he was getting at, she ignored it. She shut the door behind her and stepped towards his desk, which was cluttered with papers and documents. A heap of newspapers sat on the floor, the top copy the most recent issue of the _Mail_ ; the Squadra attack had made headlines, and there at the side was a picture of her and the Doctor taken at a Vitex event. Rose’s stomach squirmed. She hadn’t even considered the media interest. What if the Doctor ran into a reporter? How disorienting would that be?

Rose breathed deep, focusing her attention on the task at hand. “I need to talk to you. I want to know about the other victims.”

The forced-but-friendly smile Jake had been wearing faded, and he gestured for her to sit down. As Rose sank into the empty chair he leaned forward across the desk, and she could see him choosing his words carefully. “They’ve kept us very busy,” he said eventually. “Some of them have been here practically non-stop — they want help, they want counselling, they want us to fix it. Some of the families don’t trust Torchwood. They’ve gone to specialists, looking for a cure. But the specialists are out of their depth. ” He gave her a strained smile, and Rose noticed that he looked very tired. “We’ve been busy.”

Rose nodded. She’d worked that sort of environment before, the fall-out of an attack that had injured civilians. Torchwood had an entire team of therapists on its payroll, and Torchwood staff weren’t their only patients. She could imagine the strain this was putting on Torchwood’s resources. “Have any...” she began, and then trailed off. “I mean, how are they?”

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what answer she wanted to hear; would it be better or worse to know that other innocent people were suffering the same way she and the Doctor were?

“None of them have remembered anything,” said Jake sadly, seeming to sense her unfinished question. “Some are managing it better than others.” He looked down, his face sombre. “One of the victims is a single mother. Her daughter’s six.”

Rose stared at her lap as well, feeling cold and guilty for asking. All right, it was definitely worse that other people were suffering the way she was.

It was a minute before Jake broke the silence. “How is he?” He paused, and then added, “How are _you_?”

She fiddled with the bottom of her shirt. She hesitated, the unwelcome truth sitting like a heavy weight in her chest. Then she said, “He’s not the same.” Her hands shook and she clasped them together. “He’s quieter, colder. Distant.” She smiled sadly at Jake. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Rose...”

The sympathy on Jake’s face was tinged with guilt, and Rose remembered with a jolt that it was Jake the Doctor had been trying to save, Jake who had been the Squadra’s intended victim. She stared hard at his desk, hating herself for how much she wished the Doctor had let it be Jake. _Time Lords have this trick_ , he’d said — but he wasn’t a Time Lord anymore. She’d always known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that when she lost him it would be because he didn’t understand the limitations of his human body. But she’d never thought it would be so early, or quite like this.

“He asked me about the rent,” she went on, “wanted to know if he owed me anything.” She raised her eyebrows. “I think the only other time I’ve even heard him _say_ the word ‘rent’ he was talking about the musical.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “He read the tabloids about us.” Her laugh was humourless. “He think he’s with me for the money.”

“It hasn’t been that long, Rose,” said Jake gently. “He needs time to adjust, that’s all--”

“No it’s not,” she snapped, the grief quickly replaced by anger. “Everyone keeps saying that, like if we just pretend everything’s fine he’ll wake up one morning and love me like he used to and be the same person he always was. That’s not how this works. I know the Doctor, and I’m telling you, he’s not the same. No amount of time is gonna change that, he’s—” A lump had formed in her throat, but she ignored it. “He’s gone. And it’s not fair to whoever he is now that everyone expects him to be someone he’s not.”

Her shoulders hitched and she turned her head to stare at the wall, pressing her lips together. Jake was silent, and Rose felt the tiniest bit sorry for throwing all of this at him. But it felt good to be honest and say the things she’d been trying not to think.

“I expect him to be someone he’s not,” she admitted after a moment of silence. “He looks the same. I know what happened — I know it’s not his fault — I know he’s not who I want him to be, but then I see him and... I forget.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s hard.”

“Yeah,” said Jake. “I know. Ricky...” He trailed off, and Rose thought his voice, too, sounded suspiciously thick. He cleared his throat and inclined his head in a tiny nod. “It’s hard,” he agreed.

A heavy silence settled between them. Rose waited until the tightness in her throat had passed and her eyes had stopped burning, then she turned back to Jake and said, very calmly, “I want to see the reports on the attack at the turn of the century.”

Hesitant, he looked down at his desk. “Well...”

She could see him stalling, trying to dream up some reason she shouldn’t. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “‘Well’ what? Why shouldn’t I?”

Jake sat back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just think... given the circumstances...”

“Given the circumstances I should already have a copy in my hands, thanks.”

He looked apologetic. “I’m just not sure it’s going to make you feel any better.”

“You told me they all got on with their lives.”

“Most of them did,” said Jake, still reluctant. “But I never said it was easy, Rose, and... like I said, it depends on the person, on the family, on the situation...”

Rose only raised her eyebrows, holding her hand out expectantly. Jake sighed, and with a defeated sigh he reached into his desk and pulled out a folder, handing it to her. He looked at his watch, frowning. “I’ve got to go; I’m meeting one of the families in the lobby in five minutes. You can stay here if you want.” He gestured back towards his desk. “Most of the papers here are related to the attack.”

Rose’s fingers tightened around the folder she was holding, the paper curling in her grip. “Yeah.” She nodded. “Thanks.”

Jake squeezed her shoulder on his way to the door.

Once she heard the lock click behind her, Rose leaned her head back, closing her eyes and letting out a long sigh. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find in the report. Hope? Proof that other people had been where she was and made it through? They hadn’t been, couldn’t have been. It was like Jake had said — it depended on the person, and on the family, and...

Well, she doubted there’d been any part-human Time Lords hanging around at the turn of the century.

Deciding the report wouldn’t be any easier to read no matter how long she waited, Rose pulled her chair up to Jake’s desk and set down the folder. Taking a deep breath, she opened the report and started to read.

The first section, the incident report, she managed to read with a detached interest. It was the aftermath that interested her, and it was the aftermath that made her stomach do sympathetic flip-flops. Eight people had fallen victim to the Squadra over a hundred years ago, among them a Torchwood employee. Each of the eight had their own section in the report, filled with details of who they’d been before the accident. Jobs held, family relations, friends, personality, hobbies, interests — scraps pieced together based on information from those who claimed to be closest to them. There were testimonials from family and friends and from the victims themselves, stretching months and sometimes years after the attack. What Jake had said was true — it depended on the person, on their situation, on the support available to them. But she could not ignore the niggling fact that there was one similarity between all the reports she was reading: people changed.

Descriptions of the victim before the Squadra didn’t match who they became after the attack. Relationships changed. One man, described by his wife as cold and irritable before the attack, became kinder, more appreciative; their marriage, according to her testimonial twelve months later, had never been better. A second couple, on the other hand, called off their wedding — the groom-to-be said his fiancee had become too bossy, too demanding.

With each report she read, Rose’s heart grew heavier, and her fingers seemed to tremble as she turned the pages. Every word confirmed what she already knew but didn’t want to admit or accept: the Doctor was gone, and she would have to figure out how she felt about the bloke who’d taken his place.

The last profile in the report was that of the Torchwood employee. She froze as she looked at the biographical information on the first page, her mouth falling ajar in horror. He’d died less than a year after the Squadra attack, single and childless, at the age of thirty-one. The cause of death listed was suicide.

She read through the rest of the report with a quickened heartbeat. Vern Gabel had been working for Torchwood almost ten years, and though he’d been friendly with his colleagues, they’d described him as aloof and awkward, not a people person. An only child, he was estranged from his father and had lost his mother when he was seventeen. He had difficulty making friends, the report said, and was married to the job. The attack had taken taken that from him, and though the report detailed his coworkers’ concern and numerous visits to therapists, he’d been found dead in his apartment only eight months later.

Rose stood abruptly after finishing the report, shaking all over. For a moment she was stock still, unsure what to do, trying and failing to take deep, calming breaths. She ran her trembling hand through her hair, looking around Jake’s office as though she might miraculously find the answers on the walls.

She was just turning to leave when the door opened, and Jake stepped back in, looking concerned. “Back,” he said redundantly, giving her a half-smile. “How are—”

“Carried on, you said,” she snapped. “You said the other victims carried on. You said they were fine.”

Jake looked alarmed. He stepped back as she approached him, palms raised. “I said ‘most’—”

“What about the bloke who offed himself?” Her voice was trembling, and some far-away rational part of her realized she was being harsh, directing her anger at the nearest convenient person. “The _Torchwood employee_? Is that what you consider ‘carrying on’?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he explained hastily, “and I knew the Doctor wouldn’t—”

“Don’t tell me what you think he would and would not do!” Rose hissed, and Jake flinched. She had a fleeting memory of running down a London street on Christmas Day, finding Donna Noble, and being too late to catch a glimpse of the body being hauled into the ambulance. She narrowed her eyes, scowling fiercely at Jake. “You should have told me.”

“Rose—”

She ignored him, wrenching the door open. “I’m going home,” she announced, and it wasn’t until the elevator doors closed that she realized her eyes were watering again.

\--

It was still raining when Rose got back to their flat. She was shivering, her fingers numb, as she slid the key in the lock and swung the door open. Pushing her way inside, her eyes swept over the flat, heart sinking with part relief and part despair when she didn’t find the Doctor.

_The Doctor_. If she could even call him that anymore.

The bitterness of the thought surprised her. But it was true, wasn’t it? Whomever he was now — he wasn’t the Doctor, not the man she remembered. He wasn’t that mad alien who had saved her from shop window dummies and taken her on the best adventure of her life.

She unzipped her wet jacket and threw it into the corner before moving into the kitchen, pulling out a chair and dropping down onto it. There, she propped her chin up on her hands, staring blankly around her. Evening was beginning to set in, darkening the corners of the flat, but she didn’t move to turn on a light.

Closing her eyes, she drew in a ragged breath and then scrubbed a hand over her face. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she swallowed them back. She’d done enough crying. Now... now it was time to be honest with herself.

The Doctor was gone and he’d left behind a new bloke who sounded and looked and smelled like him. He was a bloke who needed her help, but he didn’t love her. Rose wasn’t even sure he particularly _liked_ her.

Oh, she could wait — she could do like her mum said and wait for him to adjust and see if maybe he learned to love her again. But was it fair for him? He didn’t share the Doctor’s memories — he didn’t even share the Doctor’s _personality_. How could she expect him to love her like he used to?

The realization hit her hard and she buried her face in her hands, fingers wiping furiously at her eyes. But if she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that she wasn’t sure _she_ loved this version of the Doctor. She cared for him, yes. She wanted to be there for him as he adjusted to his new life. But _love_ him?

Her heart broke as she realized the answer. No, she didn’t. Not this version of him.

Some of the knots in her stomach seemed to unwind as the realization swept through her. It felt like something of a relief to finally admit it to herself. They were no longer the Doctor and Rose, but two strangers who barely knew each other. It wasn’t fair to _either_ of them to expect that they could carry on with the relationship they had before the Squadra attack.

At the sound of the doorknob turning, Rose sat up straighter in the kitchen chair, hands falling down to her lap. She squinted as the Doctor came into view, nearly banging onto the corner table. Swearing under his breath, he fumbled around for the light-switch.

Rose squinted as light flooded the flat. The Doctor ran one hand through his hair in such an uncanny imitation of his former self that Rose felt a stir of hope. But the hope died as she got a good look at him. She had never seen him dressed so casually. He was wearing a pair of jeans that Jackie had bought soon after he’d arrived on their world (and quickly shoved into the back of the wardrobe) and a shirt. Gone was his jacket and trousers, his normal suit and tie.

Rose swallowed past the lump in her throat and said, “Hi.”

He started and turned around, summoning up a hasty smile. “Hello yourself,” he said. “You were sitting in the dark.”

Rose didn’t answer. Her eyes had caught on something — he was holding a small white piece of paper, about the size of a business card. When he saw her looking, he hastily shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“What’s that?” she said.

He looked anywhere but at her. “It’s... nothing. Just a bit of paper. Unimportant.”

“Right,” Rose said slowly. “Where were you?” Then, realizing how accusatory she sounded, she added, “I was worried.”

There was a long pause and then the Doctor sighed, his whole body seeming to deflate. His footsteps heavy, he came into the kitchen and carefully took a seat at the table across from her. “There’s a pub down the road. I noticed it when I went out last night.”

“Patty’s,” said Rose. She leaned back in her chair. “God, you went to a pub. That’s so....”

“Unlike me?” the Doctor finished with a grim smile. “I’ve no idea what that is anymore. What’s wrong with a little experimenting?”

“That phone number you hid in your back pocket,” Rose found herself retorting, “is that also an experiment?”

The Doctor flushed, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes.”

Their gazes met across the table and Rose turned away first, her face warm. Wasn’t this what she wanted for him? He was beginning to adjust — he was finding out for himself what he wanted and what he didn’t. And didn’t the Doctor deserve something like this after the life he’d had? A chance to start over. A blank slate--free from the burden of the Time War and his missing link with the TARDIS. What right did she have to get in the way of that?

Summoning her courage, she met his eyes and said, “I’m glad.”

He blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She released a nervous laugh. “I’m not saying it’s easy for me, but I want... I want you to be happy.”

Her words seemed to break some of the tension in the room and he visibly relaxed. “It’s just a phone number,” he said, his eyes still on hers. “It doesn’t have to mean—”

“It’s okay, Doctor,” she said. “Really. Maybe one day we can still....” she trailed off. “But this — us — right now, it’s not working, is it?”

He sighed heavily. “No.”

Rose nodded mechanically. She had expected the answer, but hearing him actually say it brought on a fresh wave of pain and loss. “So,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “what’s her name?”

The Doctor hesitated, watching her like he wasn’t sure whether this was some sort of trick. “Robin,” he finally said.

“Oh,” said Rose. “That’s a... weird name.” She wanted to ask more—was she pretty? Was she smart? Had she read about them in the tabloids? What was her policy on dating aliens, even part-human ones? Instead she shifted her gaze to the table, letting the seconds tick by between them.

The Doctor broke the heavy silence. “I ordered a drink--except I didn’t have any money. Robin paid.”

He’d had no money. Of all the _stupid_ ways to meet someone.... She swallowed thickly. “I had to pay for our first date, too.” The Doctor mustered up a ghost of a smile, but before he could say anything, she pressed forward. “I’m going to move in with my mum.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “For a little while at least—until I can get a new flat. In the meantime, I’m going to make sure that you’re looked after, yeah? I’ll pay for rent, clothes, food... anything. Anything you want.”

“Rose—” he said, sounding frustrated. “I can’t just _take_ your money.”

“Well, tough,” said Rose. “What else are you gonna live on? Just how much job experience to put on your CV did the Squadra leave you with?”

He looked away, swallowing hard. “I can find something.”

“You’ve got to work on figuring out _who_ you are first,” Rose said. Her mind flashed back to the earlier Squadra victims. She couldn’t let that happen to the Doctor. “And if it helps...” she hesitated, “think of it as something I need to do. For... you. Him.” Her voice softened. “Who you used to be.”

Her eyes flicked over to his and he gave a terse nod. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Rose whispered.

Heavy silence fell between them again and Rose twisted her hands together in her lap. Her heart pounded in her chest and her mouth felt dry and chapped. Was this really how it would end between them? All that history, everything they went through to find each other again, and it was going to end like this?

She couldn’t keep sitting at this table with him. She _knew_ he needed space, that she had to take some time for herself to grieve for the Doctor and start to move on. But a part of her felt like she was giving up on him, on _them_. Is that what the Doctor would really want?

Feeling shaky, she pushed herself to her feet.

“I’m going to go pack,” she said without looking at him.

\---

Rose emerged from the bedroom with one duffel bag slung over one arm. It held enough clothes for a week along with some of Torchwood’s more sensitive documents. She would have to come back for the rest of her things another time.

She heard the news flick off when she rounded the corner and the Doctor jumped to his feet from the sofa, giving her a look she couldn’t quite read.

“Let me help you with that.”

He took the duffel bag before Rose could protest and slung it over his shoulder, giving her a sad smile. He stood in so close to her that Rose fought the urge to close her eyes and breathe him in.

_That_ was why she had to do this. How could she properly help him if she kept expecting him to be someone he wasn’t?

“I left you my mum’s telephone number in the bedroom along with a credit and debit card,” she said shakily. “Promise me that you’ll call if you need anything?”

The Doctor reluctantly nodded. Then, surprising her, he reached out and brushed her cheek with the pads of his fingers before slipping one lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to go,” he said quietly. “This is your home — your pictures and your furniture and _your_ memories and...” he was speaking very rapidly now, like he was barely aware of what he was saying, “and I’ve just come in and mucked it all up, haven’t I?” He paused. “I’ve ruined your life.”

“Doctor...” she whispered. She grabbed his hand and then said fiercely, “That was the Squadra. That wasn’t your fault.”

But he looked scared and a little bit desperate. He gripped her hand tightly. “What am I going to do, Rose? What am I supposed to do with my life?”

Rose sucked in a shaky breath. Unable to stop herself, she dropped his hand and then wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. She heard the duffel bag drop to the ground behind him and was surprised when he hugged her back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she said softly. “You can do _anything_ , be anything. You’ve got an entire world out there and nothing is stopping you from being amazing. And I’m just a phone call away.”

“Right,” he said after a moment, loosening his hold on her. “Thanks.”

Rose pulled away, forcing a smile. “And you’ve got Robin,” she said. “That’s a good start.”

“Yeah. I guess,” he said dully. “I barely know her.”

“And she just met you,” Rose said. Taking a deep breath, she added in a soft voice, “She’s not going to be expecting you to be someone you’re not, is she?”

“No,” the Doctor admitted, matching her quiet tone. Clearing his throat, he bent down and picked up the duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Can I... I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Okay.”

They walked in silence, the short hallway seeming to stretch on forever. Rose’s eyes were burning by the time they reached the door. Again she wondered if she was really doing the right thing. Was she doing the best thing for him, giving him some space? Or was she doing it out of self-preservation—because seeing the Doctor’s face and hearing his voice every day when he was gone was simply too much for her to bear?

She fumbled with the lock with shaking hands, but when she turned to look at the Doctor, he was staring off into space, a dazed look in his eyes.

“My taxi will be waiting,” she whispered.

“Right,” he said hoarsely, still looking dazed. He handed over her duffel bag and mustered up a strained smile. “Well, bye then.”

_Bye then_. He said it so simply--like she was only a stranger that had come into his life for a few days and was now leaving it again.

It was only a few years ago that he had burned up a sun just to say good-bye.

Rose hoisted the duffel bag over her shoulder and returned his strained smile. “Bye,” she responded.

The door closed with a soft click behind her.

\--

[Continue to part 4](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/194450.html?style=mine)


	4. collab fic: identity theft (4/5ish)

**Title** : Identity Theft (4/5ish)  
 **Authors** : [](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/profile)[**goldy_dollar**](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/) & [](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/profile)[**_thirty2flavors**](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/)  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings** : Ten II/Rose  
 **Genre** : Angst, drama  
 **Warnings** : No standard warnings for this chapter, but the fic as a whole deals with themes of memory loss.  
 **Summary** : When the Doctor is injured during an alien attack, he and Rose are left struggling to cope with the aftermath.  
 **Excerpt** : _They’d been separated a month, and now he didn’t even look like the Doctor. He was wearing jeans and a simple cotton shirt, his hair was lying flat atop his head, and Rose wasn’t sure she’d even have recognized him if he hadn’t turned to face her direction._  
 **Previous parts** : [Part One](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/190569.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Two](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/192296.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Three](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/193163.html?style=mine#cutid2)

  
Rose barely slept that night.

She was in the same bedroom she stayed in after Bad Wolf Bay, back during those first few days when she’d been too confused to even look at the Doctor properly. If only she had known then what she knew now. Those days felt like wasted time—she’d had the Doctor and thought she didn’t want him. If only she’d realized it could have been so much worse.

She’d forgotten what it felt like to try and live without him. She hadn’t felt this empty since those horrible few months after they’d been separated. But even then she’d had the Dimension Cannon to focus on. She’d always known she’d get back to him, it had only been a question of how and when.

But now... now she was determined to see him through and make sure that whomever he was now, he moved on and made a life for himself. But after that — what was left? What would she do with herself?

Every time she closed her eyes, she replayed the scene with the Squadra again and again in her head. _Time Lords have this trick_ , he’d said, before pushing her out of the way and running into the Squadra’s path. She saw him fall under the weight of the alien, his body shuddering as the Squadra fed on all his thoughts and memories, his very sense of _self_. If she had only intervened—if she had done something to stop the process, maybe a part of him could still be with her now. Anything was better than the way he stared at her like she was a stranger.

By the time dawn broke, Rose was fully awake. She dressed quickly and headed quietly to the kitchen, hoping that the rest of the family would sleep for another few hours.

She made herself a cup of tea and then sat at the kitchen table, cradling the warm mug between both her hands and letting the steam waft up into her face. She thought about what she had said to the Doctor earlier—about how what happened wasn’t his fault, that it was the Squadra who had done it. And she was right. This wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t her fault either. It was the Squadra.

And she was going to hunt them down and make them pay for it.

Her fingers clenched around the handle of the mug. _That’s_ what she would focus on. Just like she had once focused her energy and grief into the dimension cannon, now she would channel it into finding the aliens who had done this.

And after that.... well, if the Doctor could find peace and move on, maybe she would start letting herself think about doing the same.

\---

It had been a long time since Jackie Tyler had seen her daughter so sad.

A week ago, Rose had shown up on her parents’ doorstep, announced that she would need a place to stay for a while, and then dissolved into tears on Jackie’s shoulder. She’d explained through her hiccoughing sobs that he just wasn’t the Doctor, and that they’d both agreed it was unfair to pretend it would ever be the way it was before.

In the days that had followed, Rose’s grief only seemed to worsen. Jackie remembered what it had been like back when they’d first arrived, when her own joy at being reunited with Pete had clashed with Rose’s utter despair. It had been terrible to watch, and endlessly frustrating as a mother who could do nothing to make her child feel better. Rose had been a shadow of herself in those days, quiet and subdued. Seeing her like that again was breaking Jackie’s heart.

“He’s gone, mum,” she said, every time Jackie suggested that she go back and try and sort things out with the Doctor. “He’s gone.”

Jackie had no response to that. Lord knew, she had spent her fair share of time blaming the Doctor. During Rose’s worst moments in the past, she had even hated him. What sort of good had it done, him bringing them to that beach and then not finding the time to spit out those three most important words?

But now, as much as Jackie hated to see Rose in such despair, she couldn’t find it in her heart to be angry with the Doctor. When it came down to it, she felt sorry for the poor man — waking up like he had with all his thoughts and memories gone. What happened wasn’t his fault, and now he was all on his own, in a world where he didn’t know the first thing about himself.

She would just have to check up on him, then, she resolved. She would look after him. Just like she would take care of Rose for as long as Rose needed her.

She found Rose in the spare room, kneeling in front of an open box. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, highlighting Rose’s pale face and tired eyes.

Jackie bustled into the room, pretending not to see the tear tracks on Rose’s cheeks. “What have you got there, sweetheart?”

“Pictures,” Rose said without looking up. “I just got back from the flat. I was picking up some of my stuff.” She paused. “He wasn’t there, but.... he left them in a box for me. The note said he wanted me to have them.”

“Oh,” said Jackie. “Well, that was considerate of him, wasn’t it?”

Rose sat back on her haunches, pressing her lips together like she was fighting down a sob. “Two years,” she whispered. “We had two years together – enough for one box.” She paused. “He promised me the rest of his life.”

“Oh, Rose.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose said. She wiped a hand across her eyes and took a deep breath. “One day I’m going to manage a conversation about this without crying.”

Jackie moved into the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You could go back—”

“ _Mum_ ,” Rose said, in that we’ve-discussed-this-ten-thousand-times-already voice. “It’s over, okay? I’m not gonna go force myself on someone just ‘cos they look like the Doctor. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“Pete and I—”

“That was _different_ ,” Rose said, a marked edge to her tone. “He still felt the same, didn’t he? But the Doctor... it’s like there’s someone new living inside of him.” Rose dropped her voice. “I wish you could understand.”

“I do, sweetheart,” said Jackie. (She didn’t, not really, but she could certainly understand what it was like to be with someone who looked and acted like her husband but remembered a different Jackie, a different marriage). “But think about what it might be like for him — in that flat all on his own.”

Rose snorted. “He’s not alone.”

Jackie frowned. “How do you mean?”

Rose looked away, silent for a moment as she nibbled on her lip, seeming to debate with herself. Then she stood and walked to her nightstand, jerked open the top drawer and tossed a magazine down on the bed next to Jackie. It was a gossip rag; once upon a time Jackie had read them herself, but since coming here and finding her own family the subject of media interest, most of the appeal had faded. As far as she knew, Rose stayed well away from them.

“Page nineteen,” was all Rose said.

Reluctantly Jackie turned to page nineteen, though she was already certain what she would find there. Sure enough, there on page nineteen was a picture of the Doctor in uncharacteristically casual clothes, walking next to a tall brunette woman.

**HEARTBROKEN HEIRESS?** __

_“Doctor” John Smith, boyfriend of two years to Rose Tyler, daughter of multi-millionaire Vitex creator Pete Tyler, was seen yesterday leaving Edwin's — with another woman! The two shared an “intimate” dinner and left together. “It was definitely a date,” sources say._

_Smith and Tyler are rumoured to have parted ways, with sources saying Rose has moved out of their shared flat and back into her parents’ mega-mansion. This comes just days after Smith made the headlines as one of the 9 victims of a recent alien attack in London that left Smith and 8 others with a unique form of amnesia. Could this be the reason for the sudden split?_

Jackie tossed it to the floor without reading the rest. Frowning, she turned to Rose. “Oh, sweetheart,” she began, “you know how those papers work—”

“Her name’s Robin,” interrupted Rose, her voice high-pitched and strained. “She bought him a drink at a pub when he forgot his wallet. She gave him her number.” Rose took a breath. “He met her before... before I’d even moved out.” She ran her hands through her hair and laughed. “That’s like him, isn’t it? Out with the old, find someone new.” She smiled shakily.

“Rose—”

“I’m happy for him,” Rose carried on, as though Jackie hadn’t said anything at all. “I am. It’ll be good for him. She will be. Robin. She can do all sorts of things that we— that I—” She gulped down another breath, her babble becoming more and more frantic. “He can be happy. Normal. He’ll never have to miss the TARDIS again, and he’ll never have to think about the Time War or his people or...”

Rose broke off, her breaths coming short and quick as she fought to keep her composure. Jackie stood and wrapped her arms around her daughter, and Rose sagged against her, hiding her face in Jackie’s shoulder. “He’ll be happier this way,” she whispered.

Rose was upset, and as her mother, it was Jackie’s job to take care of her. So she kissed the side of Rose’s head and held her tight and didn’t mention that she was positive the Doctor was always his happiest when he was with Rose.

\--

Rose yawned and then rubbed at her forehead, bleary eyes trying in vain to focus on the newspaper clippings in front of her. The clock on her desk informed her that it was 2:03am. Outside her office, Torchwood’s halls were dark and empty.

She leaned back in her chair, picking up the paper cup of coffee on her desk. She took a small sip, grimaced, and then set it down again.

For a long moment, she sat still, mind alert despite the early morning hours. They all thought she was mad—Mum, Dad, Jake, even Tony. They thought she didn’t notice their worried looks behind her back or the way they whispered to each other when they thought she wasn’t listening. But she noticed, and she knew why. She’d done almost the same thing when they first arrived in this world. She practically moved into her office at Torchwood. She drank stale coffee, skipped meals, and fell into bed in the early hours of the morning, sometimes only getting a couple of hours of sleep before heading back to the office.

They didn’t understand, though. They didn’t know what it was like when she stopped—like everything rushed in at once, pushing down on her until it felt like she couldn’t breathe. No, if she only kept working, gave herself something to focus on then she could go on to the next minute and the minute after that.

Her fingers skimmed over the newspaper clippings in front of her and a small smile quirked at her lips. She was beginning to figure it out. At first she’d had her suspicions, but now....

Wars. Riots. Revolts. Natural disasters.

It was the same pattern, over and over. They waited for confusion and panic--and then they struck. They probably thrived on it (if the Doctor was here, he could have confirmed her hypothesis but he wasn’t and so she went with what her gut told her).

And after each event, a handful of people ended up in the hospital with unexplained amnesia. The Russian Revolution, the battlefields of World War Two, France during the 1968 strike, the Iranian Revolution, Vietnam rallies in the United States, football matches, and even a hockey riot in Canada in the 1950s. Every time, the same pattern, the same number of people with amnesia in the hospital.

Communication facilities on Pete’s World had always lagged behind her world back home. And since the Cyberman incident, the rest of the world had been reluctant to share their intelligence with Britain in case it was compromised. It wasn’t a surprise that they hadn’t come across the information earlier. She had to dig up the newspaper articles herself, track down the psychologist reports and victim families.

But she was sure of one thing. The Squadra attack that took the Doctor from her was not the first one and it wouldn’t be the last.

There had been a lockout that day at the shopping centre. She just had to stay alert — any scene of trouble or confusion could mean a Squadra attack.

And she would be there.

\--

It was weeks before she saw the Doctor again. She kept tabs on him, of course—she knew the rent had been paid and she’d seen the tabloid picture, but seeing him again felt like too much pressure. On both of them.

And then, one day at Torchwood, there he was.

She spotted him across the lobby almost as soon as the elevator doors opened, and she froze, her heart catching in her throat. They’d been separated a month, and now he didn’t even _look_ like the Doctor. He was wearing jeans and a simple cotton shirt, his hair was lying flat atop his head, and Rose wasn’t sure she’d even have recognized him if he hadn’t turned to face her direction.

He saw her at the same time she saw him, and his eyes widened just briefly before his face settled into an impartial expression. He waved. Hoping she looked as collected, Rose took a deep breath, and walked towards him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he said, and Rose knew immediately that she’d been right to leave because his voice was too familiar. She _missed_ that voice — hearing it again felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket — but it was wrong to hear it coming from a stranger. “How are you?”

Forcing a smile and hoping it looked natural, Rose waved one hand. “Oh, I’m... good. Getting on. Busy at work, you know.” She shrugged. “What about you? How’re you doing?”

The Doctor seemed to mull over his answer before speaking. Rose imagined he was wondering how honest he ought to be — trying to spare her feelings, probably. “All right,” he said finally, nodding. “I’m all right.” He tugged his ear, and seemed to perk up a bit. “I’ve got a job! So... that’s good.”

He smiled at her, and Rose smiled back, trying not to dwell on how strange it was to see the Doctor _excited_ by the prospect of employment. “Yeah? What are you doing?”

His smile dimmed while his cheeks turned a bit pink. “Delivering pizza.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t... I didn’t really have a — a CV or any experience, but I was in there one day and the owner, she said she recognized me from the papers. She offered me a job and — well, I’ve learned I have a good sense of direction and a good sense of time.” As though realizing his smile had faltered he grinned full-force again. “It’s good, though, it’s... I’m looking for a flat. Another one, I mean, so that you... you can have yours back.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’ll be a while, though, I’ve got to save. I’m not exactly making six figures.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Really, the flat’s yours, I can—”

“I don’t want it,” he blurted, but at the hurt look on her face he blanched. “I mean, I just... it’s yours. Yours and...” He shrugged. “I can’t live off you forever.”

This time Rose’s smile, however faint and sad, came naturally. “I don’t mind.”

“I do.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve kept track of what I’ve spent.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll pay you back once—”

“Can we talk about this later?”

The Doctor blinked, but didn’t argue. “Okay.”

Rose looked away. Her throat was thick. All she had been able to do for him in the last month was pay his bills, and however impersonal a gesture it was, she liked knowing that there was still _something_ he needed her for, some way she was making his life easier that he couldn’t do on his own. What would happen when she couldn’t even give him that anymore? What would she have left?

With a deep breath, she pasted on another smile and turned back to him. “So, how come you’re here?”

The Doctor gestured behind him towards one of Torchwood’s conference rooms. “Torchwood does these meet-ups for...”

“Squadra victims.” She nodded. “Right.” _Duh._ Why hadn’t anyone told her he was attending those? “How’s that?”

“It’s...” He frowned, thinking it over. “It’s good to be around people who understand. But...” He ran a hand across his cheek. “Puts things in perspective, I guess. I thought it was harder, not having a family, but...” He glanced behind him, then lowered his voice. “Some of these people, Rose — they’ve got _kids_. One woman, Nathalie, she’s a single mother! Can you _imagine_ forgetting your own _child_?”

A heavy weight settled in Rose’s stomach and the last traces of her smile disappeared. She bit the inside of her lip and dropped her eyes to the floor. A beat of silence passed, and she could feel him watching her, sensing her change in mood.

“What?” he prompted, trepidation in his voice.

Rose hesitated. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything. All it would do was hurt him; he was happier not knowing. That was the upside of this whole thing, wasn’t it, the fact that he was free from all those burdens, all that grief—

“Rose?”

But maybe the truth was worth it, no matter the cost.

She swallowed, then met his eyes. “You had kids,” she said softly. “A long time ago. Before we met.”

“ _What_?”

“They died,” she went on. The Doctor’s eyes went wide, the colour drained from his face, and Rose immediately regretted having said anything. “I’m so sorry.”

“ _What_?” he repeated. He shook his head from side to side, disbelief and horror written all over his face. “How? What happened?”

_I think you killed them_ , she thought, but instead she said, “I don’t know.”

“What were their names? How old were they? How—”

“I don’t know.” At least it was the truth this time.

“But I must have said. I must have mentioned — names or photos or birthdays or...” The Doctor raked a hand through his hair, staring at some distant point beyond her shoulder. A silent moment ticked by as he fought to keep his composure, and then he looked at her. “The mother—who is she?” Desperation seeped into his voice. “How can I find her?”

Rose held his gaze but said nothing, watching as the hope in his eyes was replaced with a cut-off look of disappointment.

“Let me guess,” he said finally, and there was a bitter edge to his words now. “You don’t know.”

“You... you never said,” she whispered. She looked down at her shoes while he scrubbed his face with his hands.

“Jesus, Rose, how long were we together? _Years_? In all that time, did I ever tell you _anything_ about myself?”

Rose didn’t know what to say. She stared at the tile beneath her feet and willed herself not to cry.

“Why the hell didn’t you mention this earlier?” he snapped. His voice shook with barely-contained anger and Rose swallowed, saying nothing. “Any other crucial information about me you might have neglected to share?”

She closed her eyes, gave her head an almost imperceptible shake, and whispered, “No.”

The Doctor sighed — a long, weary sound — and stepped back. She looked up in time to see him turn his back to her, but he made it only a couple of feet before he spun back around and walked towards her again. He stood close, and she could see the anger on his face giving way to fright and confusion.

“What sort of person,” he asked, his voice trembling, “loses their entire family and never speaks of them? Ever?”

“A sad one,” she said honestly. She reached out to put her hand on his arm, and though he flinched in surprise he didn’t pull away. “I know it must seem outrageous now, but when I met you, you’d... you’d lost a lot, and I think you got so used to depending on yourself that it’s never been easy for you to let other people help.” She squeezed his arm. “But I know you, Doctor, and you’re a good man. Your family, whoever they were... I’m sure you loved them very much.”

The Doctor watched her intently, like he was looking for some sign of dishonesty. Then he softened. “You said I’d always been lonely. Is this what you meant?”

Rose smiled sadly, lifting her hand from his arm. “You’ve been through some terrible things,” she said, “including this. We were happy together, you and me, we really were, but you could never quite let all that go. And maybe...” She gave a tiny shrug. “Maybe this is your chance to start fresh. Without all that grief. The people you’ve lost, they’d want you to be happy.” She swallowed. “I want you to be happy.”

The Doctor looked as though he had no idea what to say. He gave her a weak half-smile in return, but the silence wasn’t broken until a short woman with dark hair waved at them from a couple feet away.

“John?” she asked timidly, watching the Doctor. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, it’s just—we’re starting soon, are you...?”

“Right,” said the Doctor, nodding distractedly. “Right, sorry, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

With another smile the woman bustled away, and Rose turned to look at the Doctor, feeling as though she’d been emptied out. “‘John’?” she repeated, followed by a feeble smile.

“Yeah.” His cheeks flushed and he looked apologetic, but he shrugged. “It’s just... easier. You know. Compared to a nickname I don’t even understand anymore.”

Rose nodded, all too aware that her throat felt tight again. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the conference room, looked back at her and shrugged, taking a step backwards. “I should go, they’re waiting for me.”

She nodded again, trying for flippancy. “Right. Well. See ya.”

He took another step back, still watching her seriously. “You take care, Rose.”

“You too,” she whispered around the lump in her throat, and then the went their separate ways.

\--

Jackie shifted the casserole dish under one arm as she reached up to knock on the door. Realistically, she supposed she ought to have called first—but since she could imagine how the Doctor might react to that phone call under normal circumstances, she’d decided on the element of surprise.

She had just raised her hand to knock again—just in case—when the door swung open to reveal the Doctor in jeans and a t-shirt, looking perplexed.

“Oh.” He blinked at her, the crinkle in his brow betrayed his confusion even as she saw him struggle to smile politely. “Hello, ah...?”

“Jackie,” she offered with a chipper smile. “Rose’s mum, remember? How’ve you been, love?”

The Doctor stared at her, clearly still baffled by her arrival at his doorstep. “I’m... all right,” he said distractedly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, did you call? I haven’t checked the messages since... Are you here to pick up something of Rose’s? I mean, they’re all her things, really, so if she—”

“Nah, just came by to bring you this.” She held up the casserole dish. “Your favourite. At least, that’s what you used to say, and I can’t imagine you’d lie to spare my feelings.” She frowned. “Probably do the opposite, really.”

The Doctor stared down at the casserole dish as though he suspected it might actually be a bomb. It was funny, almost, how awkward he was around her. They might never have had the easiest relationship, her and the Doctor, but in the last few years—even before they’d come to this world, really—they’d settled into something more familial, more relaxed. She took great pride in knowing that she could wind him up just as well—better, even—as he could wind her up. She loved the Doctor, certainly, but it was fun to watch him flounder.

This, though—this awkward floundering as he tried very hard _not_ to offend her... That was new.

She pressed the dish into his hands while he stammered to get out an objection. “You really didn’t have to do that,” he said finally, trying in vain to hand it back to her.

“I don’t mind.” She folded her arms and he lowered the dish in defeat. “Think of it as an apology for the last time.” She grinned wryly. “Probably not the best dinner party you’ve been to.”

He shrugged. “It’s the _only_ dinner party I remember going to.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he flushed and smiled apologetically, as though the acknowledgement of what had happened to him was a total accident. _That_ , she thought, was very much the Doctor—he was perfectly happy to complain loudly and rudely about things like food, but utterly reluctant to acknowledge any real trouble. It used to drive Rose mad.

Her smile fading, she nodded. “Guess it is,” Jackie said quietly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said hastily. “Really. I don’t mean to...” He trailed off and shook his head, evidently eager for a change of subject. “How’s Rose?”

Jackie frowned. “She’s been better,” she admitted softly. “She misses you.”

He shook his head. “She misses who I used to be.”

“Between you and me, I’m not so sure there’s that much of a difference.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that. He glanced away and swallowed before he asked, “Did Rose ask you to come?”

“No.” From his expression, she knew it wasn’t the answer he’d anticipated. “I wanted to check in with you, that’s all. Thought it might be lonely, having that flat all to yourself.”

The Doctor said nothing, but he met her eyes and held her gaze, a silent confession on his face. He looked lost and frightened, and terribly young—rather the opposite of how Rose had been looking lately, world-weary and tired. For easily the hundredth time in the last couple months, Jackie found herself wondering which of them was meant to be benefiting from their separation.

“I know you don’t remember it,” she said quietly, “but you’re the reason Pete and I got back together. It’s because of you we found each other again, and got to have Tony. And Rose—now, I love my daughter and I always have, and she was brilliant on her own before you. But she lights up when she’s with you.”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, his back against the door to the flat. “I should probably be going,” he said loudly, almost as if he hadn’t heard her, “I—”

Jackie held up one hand and cut him off. “Oi, let me finish!”

Mollified, the Doctor closed his mouth and looked down.

“Right,” Jackie went on. “Now, I know Rose needs some space right now—or she thinks she does, anyway—and I know Pete and Tony and I must just seem like strangers, really. It probably feels like you’re all on your own. But the thing is, you’re not. We’re family. Don’t forget that. You ever need us, any of us, we’ll be there. You just let us know, yeah?”

The Doctor didn’t move. He stared down at the casserole dish, his fingers tightening around the china, and for a moment he was silent. Finally, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Thank you,” he murmured.

With a sad smile, Jackie reached out and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “See you around, sweetheart.”

\--

The lights overhead flickered on only after Rose had stepped into the room. They were connected to a sensor — it was eco-friendly, Torchwood said (one of the few things about the organization that was), and in any case it wasn’t often that anyone came down into this level of storage. It wasn’t a room that stored useful weapons, or technologies waiting to be properly catalogued, or a room for things that Torchwood had riddled out and was waiting to use. It was where they kept spare parts, old technologies they were hesitant to discard entirely, and projects that had never worked and had been put on hiatus indefinitely.

The Doctor had liked coming here, back when he was still the Doctor. He’d enjoyed combing through the different bits and bobs, declaring some useless, some not likely be finished for a hundred years’ time, and making off with anything he felt like fixing or finishing himself. He’d made most of his screwdriver out of things he’d found here.

She stuck her hand in the back pocket of her jeans and sighed. She wondered if he’d found any of those incomplete gadgets lying around the flat since she left, and what he’d thought of them if he had. Would he still remember things like that, the science and the maths and all the technical details that were incomprehensible to anyone without a Time Lord brain? If the television broke, would he still know how to fix it?

But it didn’t matter anymore. Shaking her head, she moved deeper into the room, heading straight for the back corner.

That was where they kept the Dimension Cannon.

A fine layer of dust coated the machine now, proof that it hadn’t been thought about in some time. When she’d first come back to this universe, no one had quite known what to do with it. They’d had no use for it, and anyway it had stopped working. That wasn’t a surprise. It had never worked, not really, not without the help of the reality bomb breaking down the dimensional walls. She bent over, blowing some dust from the top of it and resting her hand on the cool metal. Could she make it work now?

More importantly, did she _want_ to?

She had never forgotten the other Doctor, the one out there in another universe with two hearts and a time machine. Over the last couple years, as she’d grown more secure in her relationship with _this_ Doctor, she’d spent less time thinking about the one a world away, but _forgotten_? Never.

It was just... she’d felt guilty, sometimes. Every so often — less frequently, in recent months, but sometimes — she’d remember that the happy life she’d been leading had come at the expense of a man she loved very much. She’d find herself wondering if he was safe, if he was happy, if he was the same. It hurt to imagine that he was miserable and alone, and yet she shied away from the idea of him having regenerated and found it difficult to picture him with someone new.

Rose bit her lip, wiping the dust from her hands onto her jeans. Was she mad? Getting the Dimension Cannon to work could take years. It might never work at all. And what if it did? The man in the TARDIS wasn’t the man she’d spent the last two years with. It wouldn’t be the same. Could it even replace what she’d lost? Their relationship had never been — he’d never even _said—_

But he was _the Doctor_ , and that meant he was so much more than she had now. She loved him, still. And it would take some time, of course. There was still the Squadra to deal with, and she’d have to wait until the Doctor found his new flat. She’d make sure he was happy and settled and that he no longer needed her, and then she’d go looking for the Doctor that did.

What else could she do?

Without warning, the lights overhead went out, and the storage room was bathed in darkness. Rose stood frozen, startled and unable to see her own hand in front of her face. Immediately her brain seemed to switch to autopilot, running through the things years of Torchwood — and years of living with the Doctor — had instilled in her. Had the bulb gone out? But it hadn’t flickered — it had been instantaneous darkness, like—

Before she could complete the thought, two of the four lights came back on, and the brightness made Rose’s eyes sting. _Generators_ , she thought, squinting and shielding her eyes. _We’ve lost power._ Well, that was something. Accidental or intentional? Intentional would mean an attack, almost certainly. Accidental could mean all manner of things — something gone wrong in the lab, or a local power outage.

Unsure how long the generators would last and not wanting to be wait in a dark underground storage facility to find out, she turned on her heel and then froze. _A power outage_ , she thought. That could mean chaos and confusion — and Squadra.

She doubled her speed up the stairs as she set off to find her colleagues, the Dimension Cannon forgotten.

\--

The hallways were already full of Torchwood employees when Rose reached the main floor. It was a bit funny, really, she thought; for an organization that spent its time protecting the Earth from all manner of alien threats, Torchwood was still sent into a frenzy by a power outage. She found Jake quickly in the throng, and pulled him aside.

“Do we knows what’s happened?” she asked, but it was perfunctory. She already had her suspicion; she could feel the adrenaline beginning to flood her system.

“No,” said Jake, “Anna’s calling the power company now. The whole block’s out, at least.”

“D’you think it’s intentional?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe? Why, have you heard something?”

“I was thinking...” she began, but hesitated. The rest of the Torchwood staff had been wary of the research she’d done on her own. She knew they were worried that she was cracking up under the weight of her grief; they watched her with the same suspicion they’d had when she started work on the Dimension Cannon. She knew there were subsets of Torchwood who had looked down on her for that — Rose Tyler, the director’s spoiled daughter, wasting time and resources just to get back to some bloke.

They’d changed their minds in a hurry when the Darkness has come, and a part of Rose was looking forward to proving them wrong again. It didn’t matter what they thought of her if she could save others from having to go through what she and the Doctor were going through now.

“I think it’s the Squadra,” she said, once she’d found her confidence again. “A power outage, that’s the kind of atmosphere they thrive in, chaos and confusion—”

Jake didn’t look convinced. “Chaos and confusion is a pretty dramatic way to describe a power outage, Rose.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “It’s true. Those articles I found, they—”

“We killed the Squadra, Rose.” Impatience had begun to creep into Jake’s voice. “You were there.”

Rose folded her arms, her own irritation growing more severe. “There are more than six Squadra in the entire universe, Jake. Those articles—”

“A handful of articles about unconfirmed attacks around the world doesn’t mean that the Squadra—”

“ _Unconfirmed_? What else do you reckon does that to people, Jake? Memory loss that selective, you think that’s a coincidence?”

“I don’t think we can assume every moment of slight discord is some sort of Squadra master plan, no.”

“I’m not _saying_ that!” Rose snapped. “If you’d just _listen_ —”

“I am listening!” Jake shouted back, then he sighed. “Look, Rose, I know how hard this has been for you—”

Rose tutted impatiently, scowling at the wall beside her. _No you don’t,_ she thought bitterly, _you can’t_.

“—and I’m _so sorry_ about what happened to the Doctor—”

“Yeah, I should hope so,” she found herself saying. “It’s your arse he was saving.”

The words had no sooner left her mouth than she was regretting it. It was something she had been trying hard these last few months not to let herself think about — that it was Jake, really, who that Squadra had been after, and that if it hadn’t been for Jake, the Doctor would still be the Doctor. She wouldn’t wish a Squadra attack on anyone, and Jake was her friend, but she couldn’t deny that there was a part of her would give anything to have the Doctor back.

She looked sharply at Jake, pressing her lips together, her cheeks flushing red; Jake stared back at her, silent and looking guilty. She knew she should speak but she didn’t know what to say, and before she could make up her mind, Anna approached them.

“I spoke to the power company,” she chirped, oblivious to the moment she’d walked in on. “They’re aware of the issue.” She grinned. “They were reluctant to tell me at first but I told them I was with Torchwood and it was very important — apparently one of their employees cut something he shouldn’t have while doing maintenance.” She shrugged. “Said it shouldn’t be much longer than an hour or two, but you know how that goes.”

Rose stood frozen, still unable to find her voice after Anna had finished speaking. Jake, on the other hand, nodded. “Thanks, Anna.”

Anna walked off and Jake turned a piteous, but gentle stare in Rose’s direction. He was looking at her like she was a crazy person, she realized, like she might bolt like a frightened animal at any moment. Rose fought down a hysterical bubble of laughter. Well, of course he was. She sounded crazy, didn’t she?

She edged away from him. “I’m just...”

“Rose—” started Jake, still with that same piteous stare. “What are you—”

“I need to go. Leave,” she blurted. “I just... I need to get away for a bit.”

Jake held her gaze with worried eyes and a rumpled frown. Finally he gave a curt nod. “It might be good for you, Rose. Some time away from this place.”

Rose didn’t trust her ability to respond. So she gave a nod in response and then hurried away, leaving Jake staring after her.

\--

She headed to the car park on auto pilot. All she could think about was how badly she wanted to get away. Jake had been right—looking for Squadra in a power outage was outlandish. But she had been so sure.

She finally reached her jeep—a present from Pete on her twenty-second birthday. It consumed far more gas than was sensible, but it had saved her life more than a few times at Torchwood. It was all black with four-wheel drive and a boot big enough to safely conceal a stash of weapons the Doctor had always pretended he was oblivious to.

She climbed into the driver seat where she sat motionless, staring blankly ahead. What had she even been _thinking_? So the Squadra were drawn to chaos and confusion--all it had been was a bloody power outage.

She was jumping at shadows, she thought as she turned the keys in the ignition and sped out of Torchwood’s car park. She drove aimlessly, mindlessly following the flow of traffic. But it felt good for the moment to lose herself in the ebb and flow of midday London traffic.

She lost track of time, buildings and pavements and people blurring past her window. But she was too embarrassed to go back to Torchwood and couldn’t quite face going home where every corner felt lonelier and more oppressive than the last.

A wave of disgust swept through her. What would the Doctor think if he saw her now? _Have a fantastic life_ , he’d told her once. And here she was, jumping at power outages, desperate for any chance that might mean a shot at revenge.

What kind of life was that? Tears pressed against her eyes. This wasn’t he life he would want for her.

She pulled the car over to the side of the road and looked around, blinking back her tears. She swallowed — she’d ended up in the east end of the city, in the old industrial area. Its factories had been hit particularly hard by Cybex industries and the Cybermen attacks. Now what remained were abandoned factories and squatters, mixed in with Council flats and a handful of (mostly failed) government make-work projects. The area was mostly controlled by youth gangs and was never a particularly safe spot to stop, but especially not in a Torchwood issue black jeep.

Still, it was daylight and she felt was too shaky to keep driving. It was like all the last few weeks were catching up to her at once — the heartache and confusion, the long hours at Torchwood and the stale coffee — hitting her in one go. And it was exhausting.

She sat still for another few moments, breathing heavily, her fingers twitching nervously against the ignition. She couldn’t go on this way, not unless she wanted to run her life into the ground. She would have to pull herself together.

Move on.

The thought had no sooner passed through her mind than her Torchwood mobile vibrated. She instinctively picked it up on the first ring.

“Jake?”

“Rose!” the voice sounded harried and a little bit relieved. “Rose, listen to me, you were right — it wasn’t just a power outage.”

“What?”

“Gang fight,” Jake said, “in the east, near the old World War Two ammunitions factory. On the corner of President Henry and Beaconsfield. From the early reports... we think it’s the Squadra.”

Rose went cold. “That’s two blocks over from me.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone and the Jake’s voice, desperate. “I’m on my way with a team now, Rose. Wait for us.”

“I can’t,” Rose whispered. If she waited, people would get hurt. They would lose themselves. Just like what happened to the Doctor.

“Rose, you _wait_ ,” Jake’s voice hissed, “how will it help if you go in without backup, if we lose you too? What _good_ will that do?”

“I know the risks,” Rose retaliated. “Nobody’s spent more time studying them than me,” she said, voice growing more strained. “I can’t stand by and let innocent people get hurt. I can’t.”

“Rose, _please_ —”

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Rose, it won’t take us long, ROSE—”

Rose flipped her phone shut, hands beginning to shake. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to course through her body. She suddenly felt alert, recharged.

Her fingers turned the keys in the ignition, the jeep revving back to life. Then she paused, something making her hesitate.

She opened her mobile again, scrolling through her phone’s address book as her breath hitched. Her fingers moved down the list faster and faster and then stopped.

_Doctor._

Without giving herself time to think about it, she hit “call” and brought the phone to her ear. She listened to it ring once, twice, three times, her heart sinking with every passing moment.

He wasn't there.

Finally, the answering machine picked up. Sounding awkward and uneasy, his voice said, _Hello, this is John Smith. I’m not here right now so please leave a message._ There was a shrill beep and Rose hesitated, heart still pounding, but then her mouth opened and she found herself speaking.

“Hi, Doctor. It’s me... Rose.”

\--

[Continue to part 5](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/195696.html?style=mine)


	5. collab fic: identity theft (5/6)

**Title** : Identity Theft (5/6)  
 **Authors** : [](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/profile)[**goldy_dollar**](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/) & [](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/profile)[**_thirty2flavors**](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/)  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings** : Ten II/Rose  
 **Genre** : Angst, drama  
 **Warnings** : No standard warnings for this chapter, but the fic as a whole deals with themes of memory loss.  
 **Summary** : When the Doctor is injured during an alien attack, he and Rose are left struggling to cope with the aftermath.  
 **Excerpt** : _He trusted that she’d loved him, and that she believed she knew him better than anyone. He was less confident that he’d felt the same way about her. If he’d loved her so much, why hadn’t he ever told her anything that mattered?_  
 **Previous parts** : [Part One](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/190569.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Two](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/192296.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Three](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/193163.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Four](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/194450.html?style=mine#cutid1)

**Author's note** : Sorry about the delay again! And special thanks to [](http://kazutakia.livejournal.com/profile)[**kazutakia**](http://kazutakia.livejournal.com/) for her helpful knowledge of cars and also apparently London gangs?

  
John yawned as he stepped through the door to the flat and tossed his keys on the table. Work had been exhausting. That was nothing new, he supposed, but lately it seemed like _everything_ left him feeling drained. He pinched the bridge of his nose, slumping back against the front door. He’d thought things would be easier by now. Not perfect, certainly, maybe not even _good_ , but he’d at least expected it would feel like there was a general upward trajectory.

A woman had recognized him at work today. She wasn’t the first, though she was the first to outright ask if he was “who she thought he was”. Plenty of times when the customer answered the door they’d blink at him and stare, or they’d blink at him and stare and then fumble for their money while trying not to meet his eyes. He could imagine what they were thinking (“is that...? It looks like... I think it is!”) and he could imagine the conversations that went on once they closed the door.

In their defense, he supposed it was probably an interesting topic for discussion: the gold-digging ex-boyfriend of the mysterious Vitex heiress, reduced to delivering pizzas after their abrupt break-up following an alien attack. It was a goldmine, really. There were even factions, judging by the differing swings of tabloid articles: either he was a social climber after the Tyler fortune who was getting what he deserved, or Rose was a heartless miser, casting aside an old fling after a traumatic injury.

As a result, he found himself spending more and more time fantasizing about running away, travelling. He had elaborate daydreams about immersing himself in far-off cultures, blending in with the crowd, meeting people who had no expectations about who he should be or who he had been.

But travel cost money, of which he currently had very little. The tab of expenses he owed Rose increased by the day, though he’d done his best to be frugal. For a week he’d lived on nothing but toast, jam and bananas, worried that any money he spent at the grocer’s would be wasted buying foods he didn’t actually like. It would be a long, long time until he’d paid her back and could afford to think about leaving London.

With what felt like a gargantuan effort, he pushed himself away from the door and strode into the flat. To say that it felt like _home_ wasn’t right — it still felt like he’d invaded someone else’s living space. But it was becoming familiar at least, and familiar things in his life were hard to come by. He moved into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, and looked over at the blinking red light of the answering machine.

His stomach squirmed with guilt. Probably it was someone from Torchwood. They’d left a handful of messages over the past couple of days, wanting to know why he’d stopped attending their group sessions. Had something gone wrong? Were the scheduled times no longer good for him? Would he like to set up a one-on-one session? Would he call, please, just to confirm that everything was all right?

The problem was that he didn’t want to explain _why_ he’d stopped attending. At the last session he’d attended, he’d run into Rose and then spent the entire time feeling like a fraud. He’d felt cold and nauseous and out of place, surrounded by people whose lives had been devastated by the Squadra. He’d listened to them talk about their families — wives and husbands, parents, siblings, their _children_ — and he’d felt sick. Forgetting those bonds tore those people apart, and he’d sat there, leaden with the knowledge that he’d done the exact same thing by choice.

Because he had, hadn’t he? He’d had _children_ and he’d never even spoken of them to the woman he was supposed to love. He’d torn the flat apart when he got home that night, looking for proof of what she’d said, and he’d found nothing. Not a _thing_ — not even a single dog-eared photo, buried somewhere out of sight. With no names, no dates, not a clue who the mother had been or what had happened to them or even _how_ he’d lost them all, the search was over before it had begun. Whoever his family had been, it was clear he’d forgotten them long before the Squadra had stolen his memories. Whatever platitudes Rose had given him about grief and loss and coping mechanisms, he knew with a bone-deep certainty what Rose refused to believe.

He couldn’t have been nearly as good a person as she thought.

He tightened his grip on the glass and stared at the tile floor. He felt guilty for things he couldn’t remember doing. As much as he wanted to believe what Rose had said about who he used to be, he was finding that harder and harder to do. He trusted that she’d loved him, and that she believed she knew him better than anyone. He was less confident that he’d felt the same way about her. If he’d loved her so much, why hadn’t he ever told her anything that mattered?

He tipped back the rest of the water and set the glass on the counter, striding into the living room. The coffee table was littered with an assortment of odd objects, things he’d found in various places around the flat and as yet been unable to identify a use for. Probably they came from Torchwood, and several times he’d considered calling Rose just to ask. But he supposed if they were anything important she wouldn’t have left them in his incapable hands, and truthfully he liked puzzling over them. He’d take one apart and try to fit the pieces back together, and sometimes he thought the finished product was better than the original. He’d even managed to cobble two individual pieces together to make a third, equally-bizarre object. It was a strange, intuitive hobby and he couldn’t articulate what he was doing if he tried, but he liked the work. It was something concrete to focus on, and he found that if he didn’t think very hard about how he was doing it, it was a welcome distraction from his mad life.

Taking a seat on the sofa, he rested his elbows on his knees and loomed over the coffee table. The thing that held the most intrigue was something he’d found the other day in the pocket of one of his suit jackets. The strange little blue torch was the only item that seemed to do anything — it lit up and made a funny whirring sound when he pressed the button on the side. The first time he’d used it he’d held the button down for maybe thirty seconds when the television had abruptly turned off and a shower of sparks had come from the receiver. Though he’d never turned the torch on again after that — he was worried about what it might do and reluctant to break another appliance — he remained fascinated by it, twirling it in his hands. Why had he kept a torch that whistled and blew up televisions in his pocket?

The phone rang and John flinched in surprise, nearly dropping the torch. He frowned; it must be Torchwood again. Screening calls was very easy when there was only ever one caller.

He looked at the phone, watched it ring, and debated. He knew he ought to contact Torchwood _sometime_ , just to let them know that he was... well, alive, at least. But he also knew that any conversation with Torchwood would encourage them to keep trying. They’d taken a particular interest in him, probably because he was a former “consultant”. With a sigh he laid down on the sofa. _Let it go to voicemail_ , he thought.

Finally, after the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up.

“Hello, this is John Smith,” he heard his own voice say, and he winced at how poor it sounded — weak and unsure and barely-there. “I’m not here right now, so please leave a message.”

_Or don’t,_ he thought, staring at the ceiling. _I’d be all right with that, too._

But when the beep sounded, the voice he heard on the recording was not one from Torchwood — or at least, not one he expected to hear.

“Hi, Doctor. It’s me... Rose.”

He furrowed his brow. Surely they wouldn’t make _her_ call him? Were they hoping she’d be able to get through to him?

“Sorry to bother you, I just...” She sucked in a breath and hesitated, giving the impression that she suddenly had no idea what to say. “I just wanted to apologize, for the other day. It wasn’t right, me bringing that up without — without being able to tell you anything worthwhile. I’m sorry.”

He frowned, looking towards the phone. It wasn’t her fault. Maybe he ought to pick up.

He didn’t move.

“Anyway, I want you to know that I really do wish you the best.” She took another deep, shaky breath over the line, and he sat up on his elbows, listening intently. She sounded like she might cry. “I loved... what we had together, and I know one day you’ll make someone else as happy as you made me. That’s good. Maybe you’ll even pay for the first date.” She laughed, but it sounded watery. “I’m rambling, and it’s an answering machine, and I need to go, but I...”

She broke off again, and he was sure now that she was crying. He sat up on the sofa, staring at the phone intently, still unable to reach over and pick it up. Why was she crying?

“You’re a wonderful man, Doctor,” she went on, her voice stronger now. “I know you’ve changed, but you still are. You can’t help it. No one deserves happiness more than you do. I mean that. Really. So in case I... in case I don’t see you again for a while, I just want to say...” With a final deep breath, she steadied her voice, and John found his heart inexplicably pounding in his ears. “Have a fantastic life. For me. ...Goodbye, Doctor.”

The ‘click’ as she hung up was followed by three seconds of heavy silence in the flat. Then the Doctor sprang to his feet, sonic screwdriver in hand.

\--

When Rose rolled to a stop outside the factory, she momentarily thought that Jake had got it wrong or sent her to the wrong place. She expected to find a scene like that day at the shopping centre, of scared people streaming out of the building and the Squadra chasing them down. Instead the pavement was clear, the road mostly abandoned.

And then she saw it, a man on the front step, crouched into the fetal position. She recognized him right away as a member of one of London’s more notorious gangs. He couldn’t have been older than 20, but he was at least twice her size in height and weight.

Rose jumped out of her vehicle. Circling around back, she opened the boot, grabbing two guns. One she clipped to her trousers, the other, she flicked off the safety and tucked into her arm.

She approached the man, the gun held out in front of her. “My name’s Rose,” she said, her voice steady. “Rose Tyler. I’m Torchwood. I’m here to help.”

The man looked up from his crouched position, his face read and scratched as if he’d been digging his fingernails into his skin.

Rose kept her voice strong, but gentle. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“They fired first, the Whitechapel Crew, we were only defending ourselves.” There was a pause and the man looked off into the distance. Up close, she could see that his pupils were dilated. “And then.... they were screaming and collapsing and there were these _things_ , these....”

“Squadra,” Rose whispered and the man looked up at her, helpless and desperate.

“They had long legs and their mouths—”

Rose nodded. “I know.”

“They were everywhere. They were pushing us in the building, herding us like animals.” The man’s voice took on a sudden note of anger and it seemed to give him confidence. He went on. “I didn’t know what was going on — we were shooting at each other — I fell...”

He nodded at his leg and Rose looked down where he was bleeding, a gunshot wound above his knee. That’s why he hadn’t run away.

“They went by me, into the building.”

The man drifted into silence and Rose steeled herself. Holding her gun tightly, she turned her gaze on the building, a feeling of foreboding welling up inside of her. In her pocket, she heard her mobile begin to buzz, ringing on and on. But she ignored it. It would only be Jake, trying to talk her out of what she was about to do.

She didn’t have time for that.

“They’re desperate to feed,” she said, mostly to herself. “We stopped them last time.” She looked down at the man. “How many were they?”

The man shook his head and Rose sighed, going around him. She didn’t have time for this. “A team will be here soon,” she said. “They’ll look after you.”

She headed towards the building, but the man suddenly reached out, fingers closing around the sleeve of her jacket. “Please,” he said, almost sobbing. “My brother is in there. He’s barely sixteen. I didn’t want this for him.”

Rose met the man’s desperate and frightened gaze and found herself nodding. “I’ll do what I can.”

The man’s hold loosened and then he released her. Without another word, Rose climbed the stairs and entered the building.

\---

He stole a car.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all, and he was fairly confident that Jackie would have no qualms reimbursing the owner later on.

Besides, he had no time to feel guilty. He had to get to Rose and he had to get to her _right now_. He drove with one hand on the wheel, screeching by a man on a bike and a woman pushing a stroller while his spare hand dug around in his pockets.

He glanced down at himself and almost froze in horror. What on _earth_ was he wearing?  
Once he saved Rose from whatever danger she had managed to get herself into this time—and he _would_ save her—they were going to have to have a very serious discussion about what she was thinking when she let him dress himself in a pair of jeans.

Finally he found his mobile tucked into his right pocket. Digging it out, he dialled clumsily, eyes darting from the phone in his hand and to the road and back.

He pressed the phone to his ear and listened as Rose’s phone rang and rang. Cursing under his breath, he hung up and dialled Jake’s number.

He answered on the third ring. “Hello?” said Jake’s voice, sounding worn and a little wary. “John, this really isn’t the time—”

The Doctor interrupted him. “Where’s Rose?”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then, “I’m sorry?”

“Rose,” barked the Doctor. “Blonde, a little over five feet tall, good with a gun, _where is she_?”

Even in his agitated state, the Doctor could sense Jake’s confusion. “Doctor?” he finally said hesitantly.

The Doctor nearly drove off the road in frustration. “Yes, well done, glad we’ve solved that,” he said. “Now, will you please tell me where she is?”

“Right,” said Jake, after a beat. Whatever confusion he was feeling, he managed to get past it, because his next few words were clipped and business-like. “There was a Squadra attack in the east end, the corner of President Henry and Beaconsfield. Rose went in on her own—”

“She WHAT?” the Doctor exploded. “And you just _let_ her—”

“She’s been out of her mind these last few months, Doctor,” came the much softer reply. “Crazed, almost. I reckon she.... she saw the chance at revenge and she took it.”

Dread pooled in the Doctor’s stomach. If only he had picked up the phone back at the flat, if only he had just _talked_ to her. But now....

“I’m on my way,” he said grimly.

“So are we,” Jake responded. “But she still has a head start.”

“I’m closer,” said the Doctor. Without another word, he snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket. He glanced around, doing a cursory check for any nearby policy cruisers, and then he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal. The stolen car bucked briefly underneath him and then sped up.

The Doctor set his mouth in a tight line and tightened his grip on the wheel.

\--

It wasn’t hard for Rose to find them.

She only had to follow the trail of bodies.

Both people _and_ Squadra, she noted. Maybe it hadn’t been their best move, attacking people who were already armed with guns. Some of the people were bleeding from gun wounds, either caught in the crossfire or purposely taken by the rival gang. Others were merely unconscious — those were the ones who wake up in the hospital in a few hours, their memories and identities wiped away.

Rose’s hands shook on her gun, but she followed the trail of bodies. Down a hall, around the corner. From somewhere below she heard the sudden blast of a gun going off, and then a long, wailing scream — a scream that seemed to go on forever before abruptly cutting off.

Rose thought hard. Old ammunitions factory, Jake had said. She would bet the Squadra had herded them downstairs, to the main plant. In a wide open space, the people would be trapped in with few exits and few places to hide.

Rose looked around for a staircase and shivered. They were getting smarter, the Squadra. Last time when they had attacked a shopping centre in the heart of London, they gave the people a chance to flee the building and escape. Now they were picking the furthest and poorest region of the city, boxing their victims in.

By the time Torchwood arrived, it would be all over for them.

Finally, she came across an old lift. She had to manually haul the doors open herself, but the inside was untarnished. For a second, she hesitated. Was she really ready for this? To head straight into a battle she had no hope of coming out from?

But she remembered how that man had looked at her, the way he’d desperately clung to her jacket, begging her to rescue his brother. What did that make her if she left them now to save herself?

Decision made, she stepped into the lift and pressed the ‘down’ button. The rickety lift shuddered to life and then descended. It was a short trip. Taking a deep breath, she wrenched the doors back open.

And found herself staring at the back of a Squadra.

It must be guarding the exit, Rose thought, at the same time as the Squadra turned around. Its bubble eyes bugged and then it opened its jaws. The mouth had no teeth; it was coloured black and looked almost smooth like a giant plastic funnel. Rose instinctively took a step back, banging onto the back of the lift. Raising her gun, she fired once, twice, three times into the wide open mouth.

The Squadra emitted a piercing wail and then collapsed, immobile at Rose’s feet.

_First one down._

Rose chanced a look around. There were at least ten Squadra, maybe more, and a handful more people. Some Squadra were bent over, feeding on helpless victims. One or two of them lay dead or near death, bleeding from gunshot wounds.

The remaining Squadra were herding the people into a corner. Most of them had lost or used up their weapons and their terrified gazes jumped around the plant, desperately seeking a way out and not finding it. Most of them were men, but Rose counted one or two women among them. All of them were about her age or younger.

With a sudden burst of anger, Rose trained her gun on the nearest Squadra and fired. It hit the alien in the back, and he shuddered and turned around. Rose fired again, this time hitting him in the head. He fell down without a noise.

She suddenly had their full attention.

There were four or five of them who weren’t feeding and Rose instinctively took a step backwards, nearly tripping over a fallen body. Before she could regain her balance, they jumped, _rushing_ at her, their long legs skittering over the floor. Rose fired, missed, and almost hit one of the remaining victims.

“GET TO THE LIFT,” she hollered at them. “NOW.”

There was no time for anymore instructions. Rose turned around and ran. She could sense them gaining on her, their long strides more than outpaced hers.

The factory wasn’t very big. She was already nearing the other side, her heart hammering frantically in her chest. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, comforted by the sight of so many of the Squadra’s almost-victims running for the lift. Some—maybe _most_ —would get away.

And then one of the Squadra slammed into her from behind. Rose crumbled to the ground, chin banging down on the cement floor, her gun clattering across the floor. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she tasted blood in her mouth.

The Squadra’s legs dug into her arms, wrestling to turn her around. _No,_ Rose thought with a sudden burst of panic. Not that. She would take _anything_ over losing herself.

She thrashed underneath the Squadra, groping for her second gun. Finally her fingers grasped around the head and she pulled it up, fumbling for the safety.

The Squadra flipped her over and she stared up into that mouth, the mouth that seemed to go on forever. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fired.

Above her, the Squadra wailed in pain and then collapsed heavily on top of her. Rose struggled underneath the body, but already the rest of them were bearing down on her. They were moving slowly, their tongues clicking in some alien language she couldn’t understand. It was almost like they were _purposely_ drawing it out.

She clenched her jaw. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Still straining underneath the weight of the dead Squadra, she brought her gun arm around, aiming at the nearest Squadra. She fired. It hissed as the bullet grazed one of its tentacles, but moved forward.

Rose fired again—but this time a long leg wrapped itself around her wrist, squeezing until tears sprang into her eyes. With a faint gasp, Rose’s fingers spasmed and she dropped the gun. The Squadra made another clicking noise (almost like they were _laughing_ ) and then kicked the gun away.

Rose watched it go with a sinking heart. She had wasted that last bullet — she should have turned the gun on herself and finished it before the Squadra could.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt one tear roll down her cheek, body tensing as she waited for the inevitable pain of the Squadra’s mouth crashing down on her.

And then there was a noise—a sharp, ringing wail, like nothing she had ever heard before. It felt like the whole building was vibrating, like the noise was reaching inside of her and settling into her bones. It was _awful_. She cried out, but still the noise continued, loud and piercing. In desperation, she struggled under the Squadra corpse, fighting to free her arms. Finally, _finally_ she managed to cover her ears, but still the noise drowned on. Unending, merciless.

And then it stopped.

Panting, she fought to open her eyes. The ceiling swam into view, blurry and unfocused. Over the ringing in her ears, she heard someone calling her name.

“ROSE!”

Her heart leaped. That sounded like.... but it couldn’t be. It _couldn’t_. That was impossible. She was hallucinating, or this was how it felt, death by Squadra attack. She was cracking up, one stolen memory at a time.

But the voice called again. “Rose — hang on, I’m coming.”

Trainers slapped against the ground and then he swam into her line of vision above her. The first thing she thought was that he was wearing the most _ridiculous_ outfit — jeans and a loosely fitting t-shirt with a half-buttoned blazer. It looked like he had put on half a suit and then forgot about the other half.

“ _Rose_ ,” he said, practically choking out her name. “You’re all right. I’m here now.”

Unwittingly, tears sprang into her eyes. Her chest heaved and it hurt to draw in her next breath. “Oh my God. _Doctor_?”

She could barely get the word out. In the half-second of silence that followed, Rose felt like her heart was breaking.

But then he was nodding, “It’s me. I’m back. Rose—”

He touched her hair and she sniffled, but she was still trapped underneath the Squadra corpse. She pushed uselessly at the body, fighting tears of desperation. Her head was pounding and her mouth was bleeding but all she wanted was to throw herself into his arms and never let go.

“Get it _off_ ,” she said, almost crying. “GET IT OFF.”

The Doctor snapped to attention immediately. With both of them pushing, they managed to heave the Squadra over to one side, enough so that Rose could wiggle out from under the body. She managed to draw herself up to her knees before she staggered, falling almost involuntarily into the Doctor’s arms.

Her heart was thudding as he drew her in close, stroking her hair and whispering soothing noises into her ear. _What if it was all just a dream? What if this was where her subconscious had gone to hide?_ It all felt too surreal.

“How did....?” she began.

“Setting 32E on the sonic screwdriver,” said the Doctor grimly, “and this.” He held up a device that looked oddly like a funnel. “Amplifies the frequency,” he explained. “Made it two weeks ago from bits around the flat, not that I knew what it was. They have sensitive bodies, the Squadra. Incredible hearing. The sensations... it overloaded their system.” He paused. “It’s almost deadly to humans as well, come to think of it.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but the mindless babble, even the slight hint of condescension at the end--the you-silly-humans-and-your-sensitivities tone of voice, it all felt very _him._

She held him tighter. “You left me,” she said, and she sounded tired. So tired.

“I know,” came the soft reply. And then his hands caressed her face, fingers lingering on her temples. “Concussion,” he said.

“Am I dreaming?”

He looked sad. “No.”

She struggled to get up, forcing her sluggish body to move. “Then we have to — there are others, they’re hurt. I have to find... there was this man’s brother....”

“Rose.”

She pulled herself to her feet but stumbled, and the Doctor grabbed her by the arms to steady her. “They’re hurt,” she repeated, “lots of them, they—”

“ _You’re_ hurt,” he said firmly, gently trying to coax her back down. “Torchwood’s on their way--”

Rose shook her head resolutely. “We have to—we have to help them—”

“I will, Rose, just... sit down. All right?”

Still feeling unsteady on her feet, with her head pounding and her ears ringing, Rose allowed herself to be eased back down. She looked over at the others; it seemed as though everyone who could walk had made it out of the basement. She turned to spit out the blood that had been pooling in her mouth, then looked at the Doctor, still crouched in front of her.

“Go,” she said, wiping the blood away from her mouth with the back of her hand. “They need help. I—”

Her words were drowned out by the sound of the lift door being forced open and Torchwood personnel pouring out of it, guns raised. They froze outside the entrance to the lift, perplexed.

“It’s all right,” the Doctor called. “They’re dead. You’ll need stretchers down here, a lot of people have been injured.”

Jake, standing at the front of the team, turned in their direction first, visibly relieved to see Rose still alive. He nodded at the Doctor’s words and gestured towards his team, saying something Rose couldn’t hear. Her eyes slipped shut and she slumped back, the last of the adrenaline in her system beginning to be dampened by relief. Torchwood was here. They would take care of the people who were hurt.

There was a pounding of boots across the floor and she felt the Doctor’s hand move up to brush her cheek.

“Rose?” he asked softly.

“‘M all right,” she murmured — perhaps less convincingly than she wanted, because the Doctor slid his arm around her back.

The sound of boots came to a stop and then Jake spoke, his voice strained. “Rose, are you okay?”

“‘M _fine_ ,” she insisted, cracking her eyes open and sending him a small, bloody smile.

Jake’s concerned frown didn’t go away. “Jesus, Rose, you scared us.”

“I couldn’t just _wait_ , there were people—”

Jake sighed. “I know.” Then he grinned. “Glad you’re still with us, Tyler.” He looked at the Doctor. “And I have no idea how the hell you’ve done it, but welcome back.”

The Doctor barely seemed aware of the acknowledgement. “Thanks.” He was still watching Rose closely, a small frown at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a concussion, and you’re exhausted. I’m taking you to the hospital. _Allons-y!_ ”

Exhaustion and the pounding in her head and ears made her movements uncoordinated, but with one of his arms gripping her waist and her other arm looped around his shoulders, Rose was able to hoist herself to her feet. She leaned heavily against him as they found their balance, and they shuffled towards the lift.

“By the way,” he called back to Jake, “find the owner of a blue Audi A5 with the license plate D351FYR and tell them their car’s parked on Beaconsfield.”

Gripping the Doctor’s jacket tightly, Rose watched her feet carefully as they walked, and it wasn’t until they were in the lift that Rose turned to stare at the Doctor suspiciously.

“Did you _steal a car_?”

[Continue to Part 6](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/200291.html?style=mine#cutid1)


	6. collab fic: Identity Theft (part 6 of 6)

**Title** : Identity Theft (6/6)  
 **Authors** : [](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/profile)[**goldy_dollar**](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/) & [](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/profile)[**_thirty2flavors**](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/)  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings** : Ten II/Rose  
 **Genre** : Angst, drama  
 **Warnings** : No standard warnings for this chapter, but the fic as a whole deals with themes of memory loss.  
 **Summary** : When the Doctor is injured during an alien attack, he and Rose are left struggling to cope with the aftermath.  
 **Excerpt** : _He looked old, she thought, suddenly. She could see all those nine hundred years reflected back in his eyes. She felt a pang as she remembered how he’d been as John Smith—was it really better for him now to have his memories back? To have to take up the burden of the Time War again?_  
 **Previous parts** : [Part One](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/190569.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Two](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/192296.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Three](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/193163.html?style=mine#cutid2), [Part Four](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/194450.html?style=mine#cutid1), [Part Five](http://users.livejournal.com/_thirty2flavors/195696.html?style=minel#cutid1)

**Author's note** : Omg, this too _so much longer_ than we anticipated, and I am very sorry for the delay. Who knew one single scene would take so long to write? Also, I saw some weird things going on with copy-paste from GoogleDocs, and I think I caught all the formatting glitches, but if you see any, please point them out.

  
It wasn’t until later, in the Torchwood medical wing, that Rose began to feel like herself again.

She had a patchy memory of the car ride to Torchwood: she vaguely remembered the Doctor calling her family, and the tinny sound of her mother yelling through the phone, first when she heard that Rose was being taken to hospital and again when she realized she was speaking to the Doctor.

She also had a foggy recollection of her arriving at Torchwood, and the doctor talking to her while the Doctor hovered nervously in the background. Afterwards, she’d slumped against the Doctor on her bed, dozing on his shoulder while he held an icepack to her head. There were dozens of questions she wanted to ask, but she was drained and woozy, so she contented herself with lolling against him, half-asleep. Next she knew he was squeezing her shoulder gently, trying to wake her up.

“Rose?”

She peered up at him through bleary eyes, and he smiled.

“Your family’s on their way,” he went on. “They’ll be here soon. I couldn’t keep your mother at bay any longer.”

Slowly, tenderly, Rose lifted her head from his shoulder and rubbed her neck. The pain in her head had dimmed to a dull but constant throb, and the humming in her ears hadn’t quite gone away, but she felt fully aware of her surroundings again. “That’s... good.”

The Doctor’s hand crept up to the back of her neck, his fingers playing with her hair. “How do you feel?”

Rose considered the question for a moment, then shrugged. “Bit better. Not as nauseous. I’ll be okay.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Just a bump on the head.”

The Doctor frowned. “You could have been killed,” he said, his voice full of the soft admonishment she associated with him blaming himself. “You almost...” He trailed off, then shook his head, as though to rid himself of the thought.

Rose, too, found she couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down her spine at the thought. She remembered those few, horrible seconds she’d been trapped beneath the Squadra, certain she was going to be its next victim. She might have woken up, like he had, in a hospital bed with no knowledge of how she’d got there or who she was. She could think of no fate more terrifying.

The Doctor had put himself in that position, willingly and knowingly.

“You’re one to talk,” she said, staring at her hands. Then she looked up, studying him properly for the first time. The clothes were wrong and the hair was too flat, but the way he was looking at her, the small worried frown, the concerned crease on his forehead, the _love_ in his gaze that had been missing for months now...

She swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. “I missed you,” she whispered.

“I know.”

He put his arms around her as he said it, and Rose moved into him, wrapping her arms around him and nestling her face against the crook of his neck. She snaked her hands up under his jacket, curled her fingers around the t-shirt underneath and closed her eyes. The ache in her head, in her ears, the sheer exhaustion she felt — it all paled in comparison to the relief of having him back.

“How...?”

“Time Lord,” he answered, without the flippancy he usually reserved for pronouncements of biological superiority. “We’re invulnerable to Squadra. We have this... defense mechanism, a trick of evolution that allows us to lock those memories away, protect them from the Squadra. It’s a reflex, really, it just... happens. We wake up a couple hours later, same as ever.”

Rose frowned. “But you didn’t.”

“Well...” he said slowly, tugging his ear. “That shouldn’t have happened. Must be the metacrisis. Took your phone call to jog those memories, actually, I think because they— _ow!_ ” He broke off with a yelp as Rose whacked him on the chest with one hand. “What was that for?”

Rose pulled back, staring at him with raised eyebrows. “ _That_ was your big self-defense plan? _Being a Time Lord?”_

The Doctor’s frown turned into something that more closely resembled a pout, and he rubbed the spot she’d hit. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re _not_ , that’s what’s wrong! Don’t give me that look, we both know it’s true. You can’t do everything you used to be able to do. You can’t assume that just because something _used_ to be safe it still is. You’ll get yourself killed!”

“I have a Time Lord brain, Rose,” he protested, and she could tell from the haughty voice that she’d wounded his pride by implying he wasn’t invincible. “I—”

“Yeah, so maybe you should _use it_ next time instead of just _hoping_ that—”

“Sorry, which one of us just ran into a building full of Squadra without waiting for back-up?”

“At least I understood the risks! _You_ still think you’re untouchable. It never even occurred to you that something might go wrong, did it?”

The Doctor didn’t have a chance to respond, because the Tylers chose that second to walk through the door to Torchwood’s med lab. “Rose!” called Jackie from the doorway, and the Doctor immediately moved up and off the bed, clearing a path for Jackie to swoop in and wrap Rose in a hug.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she crooned, rubbing Rose’s back. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Mum.” Rose patted her mum’s shoulder in return, feeling the familiar guilt of knowing she had worried her mother. “Just a concussion.” She decided not to add that it had very nearly been much more than that, but from the way her father shifted uncomfortably, she guessed that he, at least, knew exactly what had happened.

Jackie pulled back and scoffed. “Oh, _just_ a concussion, is it?” She wheeled around, looking at the Doctor. “And _you!_ ”

The Doctor looked momentarily terrified, and Rose wondered if he was expecting a slap—but instead Jackie launched herself forward to crush him in her Jackie Tyler embrace.

The Doctor flailed helplessly. “Hi, Jackie,” he squeaked.

“Oh, it’s good to have you back, Doctor,” she gushed. “It was weird, not having you yammering away all the time.” She kissed him on the cheek, to his horror, and then released him. “Love the outfit, by the way. Always thought you ought to try jeans.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened with horror, and Rose laughed; he looked as though he wanted to change on the spot. With an amused glance towards the pair of them, Pete edged towards Rose’s bed. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he told her softly. “Both of you.”

Rose knew he was biting back a lecture on a safety and protocol—a lecture she was sure she’d get in full in a few days time—and she appreciated the effort. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I’ve got to ask, though,” he said, turning towards the Doctor. “Your miraculous recovery. That’s not going to happen to any of the others, is it?”

“No.” He looked regretful, and Rose felt an immediate rush of sympathy for those who would never experience the joy she’d felt at getting him back. “Not unless they’re part Time Lord. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, thought you might say that.” Pete sighed. “Well, we need to figure out what we’re going to tell people.”

Rose frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re going to need an explanation for why the Doctor is magically all better but Torchwood can’t help any of the other Squadra victims.”

She raised her eyebrows. “We can’t go around telling people he’s an alien.”

“No, but we also can’t have people thinking we’re hiding some kind of cure. It’ll be a PR disaster.”

“A PR disaster?” repeated Rose incredulously. “We get the Doctor back and you’re upset about _bad PR?_ ”

Pete blanched but held his ground. “I’m not saying I’m not happy to have him back, of course I am, but it’s going to look bad, one of our own having this miraculous, inexplicable recovery while we tell everyone else not to adjust to their new lives.”

“Don’t say that like it’s his fault!”

“I’m not—”

“Why don’t you talk about this later?” said Jackie loudly, with a cheery tone that belied the stern warning. “Once you two are a bit more settled.”

Pete looked as though he might argue, but Jackie sent him a look and he nodded without a word. Rose reached out to grab the Doctor’s hand, tugging him closer to her bed, and he looped an arm over her shoulders.

“I can talk to them,” he offered quietly. “I’ll think of something.”

“We can work it out later,” said Jackie, with a misplaced but nevertheless unquestionable air of authority. Then she frowned a little. “Now, what’s all this about a stolen car?”

\---

The flat was more or less how she remembered it. The pictures were gone from the wall and the mantle, still sitting in Rose’s room at the mansion, but the furniture, the layout was the same. Somehow she’d expected it to be different, had imagined a different flat to match the different person who’d been living there. Picturing a new man living in the home she’d made with the Doctor had been too much. Now, though, after months of feeling lost, the familiarity was refreshing.

She stood in the hallway, taking in the flat with a deep breath and a smile. “I’m glad to be home,” she announced.

She heard the Doctor shut the door behind them, then felt his arm snake around her waist. “Me too,” he agreed quietly, kissing the side of her head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put on some proper clothes.”

Rose laughed, turning towards him with a grin. “You sure? Shame, I was just starting to like the jeans. ”

The Doctor smirked. “Ha ha.” He kissed her on the forehead and then stepped back, moving down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

Rose grinned as she watched him go, getting a last look at his unusual ensemble. While he disappeared into the bedroom, she stepped deeper into the flat. She smiled at the coffee table in the living room, cluttered with alien gadgets. So he’d found them, after all. It was almost like nothing had ever changed. If she tried, she might be able to pretend the past few months had never happened. It was definitely an appealing prospect.

The light on the answering machine blinked insistently, and she reached over to press “play” as a reflex. The first message was from Trudy at Torchwood, telling “John” they’d missed him at the last few meetings and asking if he would please call them so that they knew he was alright. Rose frowned at the phone while she took off her jacket. When had he stopped attending the meetings? They were _worried_ about him? Why hadn’t anyone told her?

She was still musing on that as she hung up her jacket when the second message started to play. She froze as she heard her own voice, thick with suppressed tears. She sounded terrible. A chill went down her spine and she wondered suddenly what would have happened if the Doctor hadn’t arrived in time, or if he hadn’t got her message at all. How terrible would that have been, if he’d come back to himself too late?

“By the way,” she heard the Doctor call, over top of the recording, “we may need to buy a new televis... oh.”

Rose stayed still where she was, while the recording played on. “No one deserves happiness more than you do,” it was saying, and Rose could feel a lump forming in her throat.

The Doctor breezed past her, jabbing the ‘delete’ button on the machine with his thumb. The recording broke off with a shrill beep, and Rose took one deep breath, and then another, still staring at the floor. She could feel the Doctor’s eyes on her as he asked, “Are you all right?”

Rose nodded, her eyes squeezed shut, her throat too tight to speak.

“That message saved your life,” he went on. “And mine. Although...” He rubbed one hand down her arm, coming to rest at her elbow. “I’d really prefer it if we didn’t try that again.”

He slipped his hand into hers and gave her fingers a squeeze, and Rose opened her eyes to find the Doctor’s face inches from hers. When his face broke into a smile as she looked at him, she couldn’t help but smile back. She looked down and smiled even wider; he’d changed into a full suit, complete with tie.

“All right,” she said, “I lied. I missed the suits.”

“Of course you did, the jeans were rubbish.”

“Mum liked them.”

“All the more reason to burn them,” he reasoned.

Chuckling, Rose pressed her face into the crook of his neck and looped her arms around his waist. He held her gently while Rose leaned against him, content to breathe him in. It was as though the last few months of stress and exhaustion had melted away, leaving behind a feeling of peace and relaxation she hadn’t imagined she’d feel ever again.

“You know,” Rose said, “as nice as this is, I was hoping for a _little_ more action when you brought me back to your place.”

There was a “humph” and then a faint chuckle. “Rose, you have a concussion.”

“A mild one—”

“Not _that_ mild—”

“And don’t think I didn’t see you waving the sonic screwdriver at me,” she interjected. “Whatever medical treatment you did will be miles ahead of what even Torchwood’s got.” She curved her lips into something approaching a pout. “Listen, it’s been months since we’ve been together and I miss you so much and I just... I want...”

She trailed off, her fingers beginning to pull at his tie. The Doctor looked down to watch her hands, his mouth twisting into a grin. “ _Well_... I suppose I could go easy on you.”

Rose raised one eyebrow, untying the knot of his tie. “Not _that_ easy.”

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally he pressed his mouth to hers. Rose sighed into the kiss, her arms coming up to wind around her neck.

He pulled away, eyes soft with something that looked like contentment. Then he reached down and took her hand in his. “Come on.”

She thought about making a crack about his suit—about how it was shame to get him back into it only to get him out of it again—but she felt giddy and maybe even a little bit nervous. So she squeezed his hand and he turned around to kiss her again. The kiss was a little more forceful, leaving Rose feeling breathless.

She practically dragged him the rest of the way.

\---

Rose felt more relaxed than she had in months.

She was sprawled out on their bed in a big fluffy robe, cuddled up against the Doctor, who was only wearing a dress shirt, his tie and trousers long gone. After they’d had sex, they’d taken a long bath, and then had sex again. At the moment, Rose felt perfectly happy to spend the rest of her life wearing this very robe, curled into the Doctor’s side in their flat.

But the initial thrill of their reunion had faded. She knew the feeling of peace couldn’t last, that eventually they would have to part and go about picking up the pieces of their lives again. Too much had happened for them to just paint over it.

She rolled back to look at him and he gave her a wan smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked old, she thought, suddenly. She could see all those nine hundred years reflected back in his eyes. She felt a pang as she remembered how he’d been as John Smith—was it really better for him now to have his memories back? To have to take up the burden of the Time War again?

She forced herself to crack a smile and said, “It’s been a rubbish couple of months, hasn’t it? For both of us.”

The Doctor inclined his head and then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah.”

Though his touch was gentle, there was something detached about it. But he didn’t say anything else. Instead he pulled away and then sat up, leaning against the headboard, his arms resting on his knees.

Silence ticked by between them. Finally, when Rose couldn’t take it anymore, she said, “Doctor, what’s wrong? Talk to me, please.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. “I had _nothing_ ,” he said, in a voice that twisted her stomach into knots. “Nothing. And you just... you walked away.”

Rose felt like someone had knocked the wind out of her. “It wasn’t like that,” she found herself saying. “I thought... I thought it was for the best. You....” _hated me_ , she finished quietly to herself, but didn’t say.

Wasn’t that the crux of it, though? Even at the time, even after she moved back in with Jackie—she hadn’t been sure if she was doing what was best for the Doctor or what was best for herself.

“I know that,” he said, but his voice was rising. It was like a dam had broken. “But I had no one else. Rose, do you have any idea how _disorienting_ it was—to just.... just wake up in someone else’s life, in someone else’s body? One morning I picked up a book and read it cover-to-cover in ten seconds. Do you know how terrifying that was? How _alone_ I felt? I didn’t have the first clue what was going on.”

Each word felt like a jab to her heart and Rose found herself shaking her head, a lump forming in her throat. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “The tabloids—you said you met someone, I didn’t know...”

“The _tabloids_?” he repeated incredulously.

Rose swallowed. “There was a photo, I saw...”

“We went to dinner. Once. That’s all. Rose, I couldn’t even remember my own name. How on earth would I be capable of starting a relationship with someone?”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

She thought back to what her mum had tried to tell her—about how she had left the Doctor on his own. Looking at him now, Rose could see how the weeks of amnesia had affected him. He looked even skinnier than usual, his shoulders narrow and bony. Had Jackie seen something that Rose had missed? Had she understood the Doctor’s loneliness better than Rose had?

“You should have called,” she said meekly. “I told you to call if—”

“I thought about it,” his voice still tense and closed-off. “I almost did. But you chose to leave, Rose. You’d given me your flat, your furniture, you were paying my bills. I couldn’t ask you to stay with me when you didn’t want to.”

“I just wanted you to have a normal life,” she said, voice faltering. “I thought—I thought if you didn’t remember the Time War or the TARDIS or your old life... maybe you could be happy.”

The Doctor looked away. “That’s who I am, Rose.” He sounded exhausted. “Without those memories, I’m just...”

“Human?” Rose offered.

He swallowed heavily and then nodded. That was it, Rose realized. The Doctor might have a part-human body and live and work with humans, but the thought of losing himself, of becoming nothing but a human man... that terrified him.

And she’d kept that from him. She’d let him think he was nothing more than John Smith. She’d been prepared to let him spend the rest of his life never knowing that he had a TARDIS or that he’d once travelled the stars.

“I thought you were gone forever,” she finally whispered.

“I know,” he said and he no longer sounded angry, just resigned. Somehow that felt worse.

“What if it had been me?” Rose said a little desperately. “What would you have done, Doctor?”

“I would have found a way to get you back,” he said simply, his tone making it clear that for him there was no other option. She could picture it all too easily, the Doctor dedicating his life to looking for a cure even if he knew one couldn’t exist.

“Oh,” Rose said. Blinking back tears, she pulled her legs in close to her body, looking up at the ceiling—anywhere but at him. “Yeah, but you’re.... you.”

She heard the sheets rustle and then felt his hands on her knees. “Hey,” he said, suddenly gentle. “Rose.”

Something inside of her seemed to snap. “All you said was that you had some sort of Time Lord trick,” she burst out. “How was I supposed to know what it was? I thought you were gone.”

“I know, I know, Rose. I didn’t mean—”

“It felt like you _died_ ,” she said, the words seeming to burst from her chest. Or maybe it was a sob? But then the Doctor was pulling her into his arms and she was clinging to him, pressing her nose against his neck, breathing him in. His arms around her waist were tight—almost too tight, but she didn’t want him to let go. Not even a little bit.

\---

“Are you hungry?” the Doctor called from the kitchen. “I’ve got... three pieces of bread and an egg.”

Rose sat down on the sofa, one leg curled under her, and leaned forward to inspect the gadgets cluttered on the coffee table. “A bit overdue for a trip to the shops, then?”

The Doctor scratched the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

Rose bit her lip, trying not to think too deeply about how the Doctor had been living these past few months. Instead she closed her eyes, relaxing back against the sofa and listening to the Doctor tinker in the kitchen. She’d slept well the previous night, back in her own bed with the Doctor by her side, but still she felt tired.

Whether it was remnants of her concussion or left-over emotional exhaustion, she couldn’t be sure, but she suspected it was the latter. They’d held each other for some time the previous night, then eventually settled down to sleep. When they’d woken this morning, the Doctor no longer seemed angry with her, but Rose worried that the damage was done. She’d let him down, and while she suspected he’d never bring it up again, she knew he wouldn’t forget it, either. She’d put a dent in his incredible faith in her. All those times she’d sworn she’d never leave him, and now she was one of the many who had.

She wasn’t sure how to fix that.

Something poked her arm, and she opened her eyes to see the Doctor smiling at her, holding a plate of three pieces of French toast. “Breakfast!” he announced, clamouring over her to plop down next to her on the sofa. “A rather meagre one, mind you.” He set the plate down between them and pulled his legs up, looking rather like a praying mantis as he reached down to slather his toast in marmalade. “You all right? How’s your head?”

“I’m fine, yeah. It’s fine,” she said quietly, ripping some toast in half. “What happened to the telly?”

“I sort of, ah... sonicked it,” he told her through a mouthful of bread and marmalade. “By accident.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “‘Course you did.” She nudged one of the gadgets on the table with her toe. “What about all this stuff?”

The Doctor waved one hand. “Oh, found it lying around, started tinkering with it. _That_ —” he pointed at a gray oblong hunk of metal “—is almost done, actually.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a musical instrument on the seventh moon of Vanna.” He sucked some marmalade off his thumb. “On Earth? Makes a good dog whistle.”

Rose chuckled. “Super useful to us, then.” But then she frowned, staring at the items on the table. “I’m surprised you remembered how to do all that.”

The Doctor shrugged, staring down at the plate of toast. “Just in the last few weeks. Things were starting to bleed through.”

Rose set down the last bit of her toast as a sudden weight settling in her stomach. “You mean you were starting to remember,” she said softly.

The Doctor nodded. “Yes.”

Rose swallowed and brushed the crumbs off her fingers, still looking down rather than at the Doctor. “If I hadn’t... I mean, would you have remembered, eventually, on your own?”

“Yes.”

Rose closed her eyes and exhaled, nodding slowly. The lump in her stomach seemed to grow heavier. There it was, then: if she’d just been patient, if she’d just _waited_...

“I shouldn’t have left,” she admitted softly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Doctor, I am _so sorry_.”

“I know.” He smiled gently. “It’s okay.”

“It won’t happen again. I swear.”

“Rose...”

“I thought it was the right thing,” she went on, desperate for him to understand, “I really did. I just... I wanted you to be happy.”

“I know,” he repeated. “But I _am_ happy. Like this. With you.”

He smiled wider, and Rose found herself smiling back. She reached down and took his hand—still sticky with marmalade—in hers. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he said with a definitive nod. He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze and then looked down at their fingers, his smile giving way to a pensive frown. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “That’s not what you want, is it? John Smith?”

Rose’s brow furrowed in surprise and confusion. How could he even _think_ that? “Of course not,” she said firmly. “Why would...?”

The Doctor shrugged, adopting a casualness that seemed disingenuous. “I know sometimes I can be a bit...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Martha said I was rubbish as a human.”

“Well, she’s right,” said Rose. She could see the expression on his face turn to one of hurt, but she smiled, brushing her thumb with his. “As a human-Time Lord metacrisis, though? Perfect.” He smiled, and with a teasing grin she added, “Besides, having the same television for more than six months? Now _that_ would be rubbish.”

The Doctor laughed, lifting his head to look at her again. She leaned over to kiss him, and when she pulled back his eyes were still closed.

“Love you,” she said.

He opened his eyes and grinned. “Love you, too.” Then he stood up, towering over her on the sofa. “Still hungry, though.” He climbed over the back of the sofa and headed towards the door. “Busy day! Job to quit, PR crisis to avert. D’you think your mother would mind us pillaging through her kitchen at half eight in the morning?”

Rose picked up their empty plate and followed after him, beaming. “Nah, I reckon you’ve got another three days of sympathy built up before she starts yelling at you again.”

“Brilliant!” said the Doctor, sweeping into the kitchen and pulling a familiar-looking casserole dish from the cupboard. Before Rose could ask, he went on, “I will treasure and exploit these three days to the best of my ability.” He grabbed the plate from her and set it in the sink, then took her hand and tugged her towards the door, waggling his eyebrows. “Besides, what’s family for, if not shamelessly stealing each other’s food?”

Rose laughed as she slipped on her shoes and pulled the door shut behind them. She was immensely glad to have her family whole again—and she was confident that the Doctor was, too, with or without the free food. “Call my mum ‘family’ where she can hear you,” she said, “and you might even stretch it to four days.”

The Doctor scrunched up his nose. “Well, let’s not be ridiculous.”


End file.
